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I feel him look at me, even though my eyes are still closed. “See, there’s that hostility again. I really bring that out in you, don’t I?”
“I worked a ten-hour shift, plus I came all the way out here to fix your brother, so sue me.”
“Well, I’d like to thank you properly and take you out,” he says. “I wasn’t joking about that part.”
I open my eyes and shove him on the arm. “You never did know when to quit.”
“Not when it comes to you.”
And here we are, like we always end up. A merry-go-round.
“You said you had things to say,” I remind him. “Why don’t you tell me about that, rather than yapping on at me to go out with you.”
He chuckles to himself. “Yapping?Baby cakes, I’m not a chihuahua.”
This actually makes me laugh, and I can’t hide it, not this time.
“Finally, a fucking smile,” he mutters.
“Does this have something to do with the bust that was on the news the other night?” I’m not dumb. They don’t have to spell it out for me.
Illegal shipments of women and drugs don’t tend to just disappear, as much as the Medicis probably hope they will.
“You ask a lot of questions, ones you know I won’t answer.”
“Because it’ll put me in danger?”
“Precisely.”
I snort. “Fynn, come on. You called me all the way out here to patch up your brother. I think that dangerous ship sailed some time back.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and I know that things are about to turn serious.
“There is something I do need to tell you.”
I wait for it, unsure what the hell is going to come out of his mouth next.
“What is it?” I ask him, when he comes up short of offering anything.
He sighs. “We raided the location where one of the guys was caught on surveillance from the car bombing. We secured him, and while Dante and Darko were checking the rest of the house, some chick shot Dante.”
“Oh, shit.”
“I know, he got shot at by a chick… He may never live that down.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I shake my head at him. “Who was it?”
He shrugs. “We don’t know who she was…” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “But the guy involved…”
I look at him, but he stares ahead. “Fynn?” I prompt.
He glances at me, and I see that look in his eyes, the one that spells unresolved anger.
“It was Cameron,” he says, swallowing roughly.
The words hang in the air between us.
At first, I think I might actually be hearing things.
