Page 22 of Harbor

“I had it handled, Lucia.”

“No, you really didn’t.”

“I did!” Renzo scrubbed a hand down his jaw, and shot her a look he hoped got his point across with his next words. “Don’t step in on something like that again. You don’t need to do that.”

“I will do whatever I want to do for you, Ren. Got it?”

Lucia crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered right back at him. That was probably one of the things he loved best about this woman—she was absolutely willing to go toe to toe with him over whatever she wanted to, even if it was the worst fucking possible time for her to be doing exactly that.

Renzo passed another look at the guy on the ground. The last thing he needed or wanted to do right now was sit here and argue with her. They had more important things to handle.

“We need to get out of here—you heard him,” he said.

Lucia frowned. “What about the money—”

“Forget about it. Get in the truck, you can drive. I need to make a call.”

• • •

“Yeah, Tuck, hey …”

Renzo didn’t miss the way Lucia’s gaze slid in his direction as the guy he’d been calling for a half an hour finally picked up the phone. Fuck, it had been years since he talked to Tucker Earl. Far too long, really. The last time the two of them spoke, Tucker had been dealing for a rival on the streets, and they had just about gone to blows over it. But their mutual respect at having known each other since they were kids took over, and they figured something else out.

Shortly after that, Tuck headed to Vegas. He always said if Renzo ever needed anything, to just give him a call and let him know. Well, Renzo was finally making that fucking call. Whether or not Tuck was serious, or if the guy was even in any kind of state to be able to help was another story.

“Renzo?”

“Yeah,” Renzo said, laughing. “How the fuck are you, man?”

“Busy. Making coin. Keeping the hustle alive. Shit, it’s been … a year or more since I last talked to you. How the hell are things?”

“Crazy.”

Understatement.

“I know that life,” Tuck replied.

Highly doubt it, man.

“No, I mean … crazy as in bad,” Renzo muttered, staring out the window. “I need some help. Can you do that—help me, I mean? Just a few things. You know I’m good for it, Tuck.”

“Wait, are you in New York, or—”

“No, I’m heading for Vegas right now, actually.”

On the other end of the line, Tuck quieted for a second. Renzo waited the man out as he watched the trees passing them on the back roads. Lucia was smart, still staying off the highway. They really needed to get rid of this truck, though. If the guy back at the motel had been talking to the police and trying to keep them there until the cops could show up, he had no doubt he also described the truck, plus likely gave the stolen license plate number.

They had to get rid of it.

Now.

“When you get to Vegas, give me a call and I will see what strings I can pull,” Tuck finally said.

Renzo nodded even though his friend couldn’t see it. “Great, thanks. Anything you can do for me right now, though? I’m in Nebraska—I need to get rid of this ride I’m in, and take something else. How good are your contacts, huh? You always used to have a whole phone full of people that could get anything done for a price, right? Don’t tell me that’s changed, Tuck.”

His friend chuckled quietly. “Getting right to the point, huh?”

“I’m in a fucking spot, man. Don’t fault me.”