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Bone-weary.
A dead man walking, on the last dregs of adrenaline.
Threatened from every angle.
I wanted nothing more than to curl up next to her. Feel her curves against my body, sink deep into her flesh, find oblivion with her, within in, my cock buried deep inside her.
I wondered if that was the potential drug addict in me… or something closer to love.
Because if it was love…
God help me, I was totally fucked.
I roared off down the road, a soldier called to war.
All the while I was thinking of the woman back in my bed, unsure if she was friend or foe, my salvation or my undoing.
33
Fiona
Iwaited until Jack was gone until I called the first number Eddie had given me.
He answered on the second ring.
“Already?”
“Tell me you have my photo album.”
He sounded irritated. “THAT’S what you called me about?”
“TELL ME YOU HAVE MY PHOTO ALBUM.”
“Jesus. Yes, I have it.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave it there for somebody else to find. Which turned out to be a wise move, since Jack showed up as I was leaving.”
My vision blurred at the edges. “What?!”
“Yep.”
“Does he… does he know it was you?”
“No. He thinks I was Roach.”
“He told me he thought the Santa Muertes broke in!”
“Well, now you know he lied.”
I didn’t want to believe it.
I fumbled for any excuse not to believe it.
“Are you sure? Are you sure he couldn’t have mistaken you for a Santa Muerte?”
“He yelled out ‘Roach’ as I was running away.”
