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“No,” Buchanan answered. “She’s getting ready. We’ll meet, collectively, at Mane on Main to wire her up and go over the plan.”
Frustration tightened his chest. He shook his head. “This is wrong. It’s off. Something’s off.”
“Their guy only wants to deal with Eden. Asking her to try to change his mind and insert you into the meet runs too high a risk of tanking the whole thing. Attempting to change the situation yourself by leaning on Dobie runs the same risk. So, deputy, Eden alone is how it’s going to happen.” By the tone of the voice on the other end of the line, Buchanan expected no further discussion. “You can get on board, or Malone can find you something else to do this afternoon.”
Swain sat, silent, as Malone concluded the call. Then his boss eyed him over steepled fingers. “Want to tell me what went south between you and Officer Brixton?”
“I don’t know. Sincerely, I have no fucking idea,” he added when Malone continued to stare.
“Something happened, son. You’re aced out of the meet, and she didn’t even do you the courtesy of a heads-up. You walked in here and got blindsided.”
No shit.
His silence didn’t bother Malone. “You want my advice? Put it away for now. Let’s get this thing done and done right. Then you can figure out why you’re on the outs.”
Good advice he wouldn’t be taking. But he let out a breath and stood. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I know you will.”
Swain waited until he was back in the Bronco to dial Eden. Unsurprisingly, it went to voicemail. “Call me,” he said, knowing damn well she wouldn’t, and disconnected. If she’d wanted to talk, she would have called him as soon as she’d spoken to Dobie. Instead, like Malone said, she’d cut him out and let him learn about it secondhand. He was hurt. He was mad. He wanted an explanation.
He’d worked so hard to give her reasons to trust him, he’d never stopped to question whether he should trust her.
Number one at the academy. Smart, competitive, and ambitious. She played you so smoothly you never saw it coming.
He really ought to admire her for conning the con man, but he was in too deep, and his feelings for her were too real.
Cooyon.
Thirty minutes later, he turned up the driveway to the cottage. He was still hurt, still mad, and still lacking an explanation. Sadly, he wasn’t going to get one here. Her car was gone. He slammed into the house, not bothering to turn on the lights.
Numb inside, he stalked into the kitchen. Smack-dab in the center of the round pine table sat the engagement ring he’d given her, sparkling in the muted light.
Not an explanation but definitely a clue. Apparently, Michael Swain and Eden Braxton were no longer engaged.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Swain sat in the passenger seat of Malone’s personal vehicle—a black Buick Enclave—and stared out the window. Beneath a cloudy sky, downtown Bluelick passed, with its historic brownstones, shady magnolia trees, and black lampposts with hanging flower baskets overflowing, just now, with pink, red, and white blooms of late summer.
Malone turned into the narrow alley that would take them to the small parking area behind Mane on Main. “Did you talk with Eden?”
He shook his head.
Malone grunted. “Now is not the time.”
A useless frustration filled him. Outwardly, he presented a facade of calm. “If you say so.”
“I do. Let’s get through the op. You two can hash things out after all the bad guys are in cells.”
“Fine by me.” It wasn’t, but he recognized the op came first.
The sound of a clearing throat came from the backseat. Their equipment tech, Deputy Anjali Hassan, tapped her window, pointing to a white Prius and a silver pickup truck. “Looks like Buchanan and crew are already here.”
Malone pulled into the slot next to the pickup and cut the engine. “Okay, team. Time to get in this op.”
Swain stepped out of the car and into the heavy, heat-soaked air. Gray clouds churned overhead, promising a storm. Bring it on, he dared Mother Nature. It couldn’t compete with the storm already raging inside him.
All in plain clothes, they crossed the asphalt to the back door of the salon. With his badge and cuffs in the pocket of his jeans and his gun tucked under his T-shirt at the small of his back, it occurred to him this would be his first time presenting himself publicly as an actual member of the Sheriff’s Department. The thought made him wince. Sitting on the sidelines, watching and waiting while Eden got the goods on the source, swarming in after the deal had been struck, basically to do cleanup? Not quite how he’d envisioned his role in the op. It still burned.
