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“This isn’t a game. I’m not refusing to answer you because I get off on making you squirm, although I also kind of enjoy that. The less you know, the less likely it is you’ll get in fucking trouble. So please, stop pressing.”
I’m breathing hard, my breasts pinned to his muscular midsection. “You’re getting off right now?”
His smirk comes back. “Pissing you off is the highlight of my night.”
“Then maybe you’ll like this.” I lean forward, getting up on my toes, moving closer. An insane idea bursts into my head like an intrusive thought I can’t shake. He seems surprised, but he doesn’t pull away as my lips graze his neck as I move my mouth to his ear. Then I yell as loud as I can: “Tell me who the fuck he is, asshole.”
“Ah, shit,” he says, letting me go and shoving me back.
I stumble, glaring death as he rubs his ear. “That was extremely uncalled for.”
“You’re the crazy asshole talking about getting off when we’re standing two feet away from a corpse. And I still want to know who he is!”
Lanzo glares at me and for a second, I think he’s about to charge over here like a rampaging rhino. There’s something fierce and animalistic in his eyes, something dangerous and beautiful all at once.
It’s raw and magnetic. Sexual, in the I’ll-fuck-you-then-kill-you sort of way. Which I didn’t realize I was into until right this second.
“Fine,” he says, turning to the corpse burrito. “You want to know? Here you go.” He grabs one end of the blanket and pulls hard until the body comes rolling out like a limp crash test dummy.
I shove my hands against my mouth to keep from puking again.
He mumbles to himself, clearly annoyed, as he rolls the dead guy halfway onto his side and reaches into the back pocket. A big, fat wallet appears, which Lanzo rifles through. I step back, sweating, pulse racing. Panic edges into my brain again when he comes over with an ID card between two fingers.
“Here,” he says, shoving it at me. “Enjoy.”
I take it with trembling hands.
The man’s name is Peirce Queiros.
Was, anyway.
And he’s an FBI agent.
“Oh, god,” I groan.
Lanzo grabs the card back, shoving it into the wallet. He walks over to the body, no longer a corpse burrito but an actual body with an actual name and a job, and puts the wallet in the pocket. “Feel better?” Lanzo asks.
“No,” I admit, tugging at my hair. “Holy shit. Holy shit. That’s an FBI agent. That’s a freaking federal agent.”
“Yep,” Lanzo says, dragging the very dead FBI agent’s body to the edge of the ravine. “Goodbye, Peirce. It was terrible knowing you.”
Then he kicks it over.
I have to cover my ears, but I still hear the sound of it slamming to the ground.
Which finally makes me puke again.
Chapter3
Renata
We don’t talk on the ride back into town. Lanzo seems preoccupied, and I’m busy thinking about how I just helped get rid of a murdered FBI agent. I wasn’t sure I really believed him before about Dimitry—Burian, fine, whatever—but now I’m starting to think everything Lanzo’s said so far has been the truth.
Which means I reallydon’twant to know more.
But I can’t help myself. The closer we get to the city, the more I want to press him. How did he know I was in that motel room? How did he know about the victim? How was Peirce killed and why? Who is Burian? Why is Lanzo following him? More questions swirl, nagging at my skull, and I almost don’t realize we’re headed toward downtown until Lanzo asks me if I have a sleeping preference.
“A sleeping what?” I stare at him. “I prefer to sleep at home.”
