Page 28 of Fixed Asset

Something sinister crowded the room, and it was emanating from Mason. So dark and ominous, it had me taking a step away from him. That’s when I noticed Pete was leaning against the archway leading to the kitchen. Even though his arms were crossed over his chest, his manner looked casual. However, upon further inspection, some of the menacing vibrations were also rolling off him.

I was missing something huge.

“Who’s Derek Nicolson?”

“He was a piece-of-shit trafficker who favored children,” Mason spat.

“Was? But isn’t anymore?”

“Not unless he’s doing that shit in hell. Though I’d like to believe not even the devil would find that shit acceptable and Nicolson is spending an eternity on the receiving end of the misery he inflicted.”

My gaze flicked to Pete.

“Where’d they tell you he was?”

“Barcelona.”

Pete shook his head. “Not even close.”

“You took him out,” I surmised.

“Yup, after Mase had his fun.”

Well, that explained the dark and ominous.

“Now we work the problem,” Fallon announced. “But first you need to get rid of that tracking device, and we need to move.”

He wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t felt great going in, and I’d been given a local to prevent the pain. I was pretty sure the guys didn’t carry around lidocaine, so coming out, it was probably going to hurt like a bitch.

“Will you do it?” I asked Jack.

“Fallon has more medical training than I do.”

I didn’t want Fallon taking it out. I wanted Jack.

With a sigh, Jack changed his mind. “Fallon, grab your kit and meet us upstairs.”

“Sucker,” Fallon mumbled under his breath.

Jack flipped him off, then turned his hand and offered it to me. “C’mere, Cat.”

I went.

When I was within reaching distance, he tugged me the rest of the way. My hand came up and planted on his hard chest to break my fall. Once Jack had me where he wanted, his forehead gently hit mine.

“We’ll figure this out.”

I pinched my lips. Part of me embarrassed I’d been screwed over like an amateur, the other, bigger part pissed that someone I had trusted did the screwing.

Fifteen minutes later, I had tears in my eyes, the bloody tracker was in the sink, and Jack was cleaning the tiny incision he’d made.

“Took that like a champ,” Fallon lied.

I’d actually bitten down on a belt, something I thought was an old-timer antidote. The nylon material only stifled my grunts, groans, and curses.

“Slap a Band-Aid on the scratch and let’s roll,” Mason said from the doorway of the bathroom.

Fallon looked over Jack’s shoulder to check the incision. My jeans were around my ankles, a towel draped over my behind. I was turned in such a way Fallon couldn’t see anything he shouldn’t, and besides, I didn’t think he was the kind of man who would look even if I was exposed.