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You’re not very bright, are you, Mr. Burkett?
Apparently not.
It sounded like a third-rate joke.
She must have parked around back, where he’d parked the first time, because the red Honda was the only car in the driveway. In the time it took him to reach it, he was already considering going back inside to apologize. He was still mad as hell, but he couldn’t afford his anger. The price tag of it was half a million now, and millions more to come. Not worth it. Not by a long shot.
He turned on his heel and had started back toward the house when he spotted something that drew him up short.
CHAPTER
14
RODARTE WAS PARKED HALFWAY DOWN THE BLOCK. THE WINDSHIELD of his car reflected the leafy trees above it, so Griff couldn’t see him. But he stuck his hand out the driver’s window and gave a friendly little wave.
Griff forgot about his apology to Laura Speakman. He jogged to the Honda, scrambled in, and cranked the motor. The tires left rubber in the driveway as he backed out. He sped the short distance and came to a squealing stop a half inch from the grille of Rodarte’s sedan. He was out of the Honda before inertia settled in.
Rodarte was waiting for him. His car engine was idling, but the driver’s window was down. It took all Griff’s self-control not to grab him by the neck and haul him out through that window. “You’re a goddamn coward, Rodarte.”
“Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”
“You hire goons to do your dirty work on men. Women you beat up yourself.”
“Speaking of, how is your favorite whore?” Rodarte laughed at Griff’s expression of rage. “Okay, so I got a little carried away. Why didn’t you report me to the police?”
“That was Marcia’s decision.”
“But I bet you didn’t argue against it, did you? The very thought of police involvement puckers your sphincter, doesn’t it? As for the working over you took, I heard you got jumped by a couple of former fans.”
“They were pros.”
“You know this?”
“You were behind it.”
Rodarte wagged his finger at him. “But you didn’t file a police report. I’ll bet you didn’t tell your lawyer, either. Or your probation officer. Jerry Arnold, right?”
“You know who my probation officer is?” Griff regretted the question as soon as he asked it. It revealed how surprised and alarmed he was to learn that Rodarte was so well acquainted with his life.
Rodarte grinned. “I know lots about you, Number Ten.”
He must. He must have been tailing him or he wouldn’t have known that Griff would be in that particular sports bar the night he sicced the brutes on him. He also wouldn’t have known to find him here, on this street, today. Right now.
Jesus.
And before Griff could even fully process the worrisome implications of that, Rodarte said, “One thing I don’t know is the name of your new gash there.”
Griff turned his head quickly to see Laura Speakman backing her car out of the driveway. Fortunately, she drove away in the opposite direction.
“Real estate agent,” Griff said. “She was showing me the house.”
Rodarte snickered. “You’re looking for a house just after getting settled into your duplex?”
“Turns out I’m not crazy about the neighborhood.”
“Where did you get the money to buy all those fancy toys? Sound system. Big-screen TV. All that.”
Griff’s mind was spinning. He wanted to cram his fist into Rodarte’s mouth because every word from it increased his alarm. Rodarte knew where he lived. He knew how he spent his money. And now he knew about this house. Most alarming was that he might learn about Griff’s arrangement with the Speakmans.
