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At Max’s groan, I ignored him, turning on my heels and starting back across the street, embarrassment now warming my entire body, not just my cheeks.
Guess I was wrong about the whole serial killer thing.
Again.
TWELVE
GEORGIA
Max’s presence loomed behind me as I hurried across the street, the bag of food swinging wildly at my side with my quick strides. Wind whipped through the downtown street, flicking my hair all around, blinding me every few seconds.
“He could’ve been a serial killer stalking his next victim,” I claimed over my shoulder while stowing my knife back in my purse. “I was being a good fucking citizen.”
“With a switchblade.” I shrugged as I hopped onto the sidewalk and headed in the station's direction. “You and Grace doing okay?”
My heart softened at his genuine concern. He checked on us weekly, though I’d noticed a one-eighty in his mood since right before Christmas. Gone was the sadness and despair. Now he radiated joy.
Fucker.
Ugh. I did not mean that. It was just nice having one person who looked like life kicked them in the stomach to commiserate with.
“Yeah, we’re good. Trap and Shade have been great, really helped me settle in here.” Heat once again flamed along my cheeks, though this time I was embarrassed for a totally different reason. Remembering Trap mentioning Max being one of their friends, I slowed my pace to let him catch up, my curiosity winning over my earlier humiliation. “You are friends with them, right?”
“Yep.”
“But I haven’t seen you hanging out much,” I hedged.
Max’s smile grew. “Well, someone I thought I lost came back to me, so I’ve been busy at home. Plus, when I’m over there, it’s for you and Grace, not them. I never want you to feel slighted because my good friends live next door. Speaking of work, have you thought about that voice mail I left you?”
I stiffened. “I know the FBI is pressuring you, but I’m not willing to talk to Barrett. The FBI has enough to indict him on all the charges against Day, Inc., plus a slew of other white-collar crimes. I’m not sure what they're waiting for or what they think I’ll be able to convince Barrett of if we spoke.”
“Georgia, this is deeper than what they initially thought. The bit of information he gave the FBI as a fucking breadcrumb to what he knows makes the feds think he has the potential to know enough of the major players to help shut down a major sex trafficking ring that’s eluded them for years.”
When his words registered, my steps faltered, legs suddenly useless and numb. The bag of food plopped to the sidewalk, slipping from my fingertips as I swayed. My shoulder slammed against a glass storefront in an effort to stay upright. Eyes wide, I stared at Max, my breathing erratic and shallow. Even through the blood thundering in my ears, I could hear my wheezing breaths sawing in and out as I attempted to not lose my earlier dinner and stay conscious.
“Those girls in the pictures were…?” I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that would make all this go away. “How did this even happen? How is this associated with me, my life? Fuck,” I shouted.
“I’m sorry, Georgia. I really am. Men like him are incredibly smart and manipulative. It’s not on you for not seeing it. I know you don’t want to see him, but from what he’s said, he knows some of the key players. Has enough knowledge of how things are run that it could be used as leverage or evidence. He won’t give up any of the names until he meets with you, though, and they lower the charges regarding the case you brought them.”
“Meets?” I gaped. “You said talk, not meet.”
A full-body shiver racked my shoulders from the adrenaline drop, reminding me that it was cold as fuck.
With a single finger, Max hooked the plastic bag, hauling the food off the ground, and wrapped a steady arm around my shoulders, easing me off the window.
“Were you headed to the station?” he asked softly. I nodded, too numb to speak. “He did initially just want to talk, but the agent I spoke to recently said your husband has gotten… jumpy. Paranoid even. He wants to see you face-to-face now, not trusting a phone conversation.”
Paranoid? That was my MO, not Barrett’s. Though with the FBI breathing down his neck on various charges and being an all-around disgusting human, that could make a normally confident man paranoid.
Max grabbed the metal handle of the station’s glass door and tugged it open. My feet shuffled, taking me inside as he ushered me ahead of him with a hand hovering between my shoulder blades.
Sitting behind a desk off to the side, Trap glanced up from the computer screen, doing a double take, eyes widening.
“What the hell is going on?” In a rush, he stood and kicked the rolling chair away, sending it slamming against the wall behind him. “Georgia, are you hurt?” Hands gripping my shoulders, he gave me a quick once-over, scanning for injuries before his worried expression shifted to a narrow-eyed glare directed at Max.
“She’s not hurt, as far as I know. Though I did just drop a hell of an information bomb on her about what’s going on in the case back in New York. I was on my way to talk to you when I stumbled upon her gearing up to start a knife fight in the middle of town.” Despite the shock still dulling my senses, I shot Max a middle finger for that overshare comment. “And I assume this here is for you.”
Trap took the offered plastic bag filled with to-go containers, confusion clear on his face.
