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“Hey, Grey,” Christian said. “I didn’t realize I was on with everyone.”
“You should know the man is always listening.” Deckard chuckled.
Wasn’t that the truth. Greyson Chadwick was a man of many talents—somehow always seeming to know everything, but then again, he’d taught them everything they knew about the PI business.
“The Bronco is done for.” He tried to leave it at that, but as anticipated, Riley wouldn’t allow it.
“So what happened?” she pressed.
He exhaled. They were going to freak. “We were run off the road.”
¦¦¦
Cyrus’s phone rang. He took a sharp inhale and gripped his cell, debating whether or not to answer. But Teresa would just keepcalling. She always did until he answered. He couldn’t even take a shower without her incessant calls at times.
He looked at Casey. “I’m going to take this outside.”
His partner frowned. “Why?”
Again with the questions. “Because it’s private. I’ll be back.”
The call dropped, and within a breath she was calling back.
“What?” he answered through gritted teeth.
“I haven’t heard back from Enrique. I can’t reach him. Did he take them out?”
So she’d told Enrique to keep tabs on him. He knew someone was there. Knew the outcome of the job from his source but didn’t know which one of Teresa’s thugs it was until now.
“Cyrus?” Impatience saturated her high-pitched voice.
He smiled with satisfaction at the disappointment this news would fill her with. “Probably because he botched the job.”
“What?” Hesitation hung heavy in her now Mexican-laced accent. It was ridiculous how quickly she took on the persona, became the person her husband believed she was, but he knew better. Knew her cruelty.
“Enrique failed.”Hewouldn’t have. He leaned against the siding of the dilapidated mobile home that was base—at least until they’d wrapped up the last heist in the state. Then they’d move on. “My source confirmed they survived.” He lit a cigarette, and satisfaction filled him with the first blissful inhale.
“Can your source be trusted?” Her tone sharpened.
“Clearly more so than Enrique. He blew it.” He took another drag and moved under the somewhat remaining porch as rain pounded down. He hunched his shoulders against the burgeoning wind. “I don’t even know why you sent him here....” He knew exactly why, but he wanted to hear her say it. “Unless you’re trying to keep tabs on me.”
“I want to make sureyoudon’t blow it,” she said.
He gripped his cell harder, his hand cramping with the tight hold. “I’m not the one who did.” Orange glowed on the tip of the cigarette as he inhaled again.
“Yes, you did, and Enrique covered your rear.”
He straightened. “What are you talking about?” He had this. Everything was in place.
“You let the girl see you.”
“What girl?”
“That girl from the gallery you cased.”
His muscles coiled. “How do you know that?” He didn’t even know that.
“Enrique waskeeping tabs on you, as you say. He saw her recognize you on the street the day of the gala.”
