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"You worry too much."
"That's not even possible." She stopped in front of the picture on her desk showing Amelia holding baby Essie with the sun streaming down on both of them. It was the only personal memento in her office or the tiny house on Philbert Street. "Love you Essie. Stay safe and give Albert my love."
"Ditto, Aunt T."
She hung up and tossed the burner phone onto the couch that would be her bed for the next few days. It was lumpy and too short for her, but it was better than the alternative. A few nights of crappy sleep was more than worth avoiding the bounty hunter or one of Jarrod's paid henchmen. No matter what it took or what she had to do, she would make sure Jarrod never got his hands on Essie again.
Chapter 3
Isaac
The next day, Isaac scanned the Devil's Dip Gym looking for anyone or anything that seemed shady. Considering this was a functioning boxing gym and the fighters training in the ring and pounding the heavy bags weren't weekend warriors but the real deal, that meant there were plenty of shady characters around, from the wanna-be managers to the less than ethical promoters.
This was going to be like hunting black cats at midnight on a moonless night. Either Wolczyk was shooting darts blindfolded and was following up at Tamara's ex-husband's place because he really didn't know she was in Fort Worth, or someone here had tipped off the piss-poor bounty hunter. God knew there were plenty of Chatty Cathys around the gym. Old ladies at a coffee klatch had nothing on fighters when it came to gossiping.
"This is fucking ridiculous," he grumbled to Lash Finch as the other man handed him a mug of coffee strong enough to put fur on one of those ugly-ass hairless cats.
"What?" Lash asked with a shit-eating grin. "Your hard-on for Tamara or the amount of product in your hair to give it that girly shine you love."
Let a buddy crash at your place one time after a drunken week of booze and blondes in Cabo—not to mention a pair of beautiful brunettes—and deal with shit for a lifetime.
Isaac flipped him off. "The fact that Taz still has this gym open to anyone who strolls in."
"You got something against boxing all of a sudden?"
"With everything that's going on upstairs? Yeah, I do." Any one of these fools could endanger Tamara with a single mention to the wrong person—and a sexy woman like her got noticed and talked about.
"The B-Squad floors are secure and Taz likes keeping this place open to up-and-coming fighters. It reminds him of Freddie." Lash's jaw hardened. "Shit, it reminds all of us of him."
Seventeen years ago, Freddie Atlas had caught Lash, Marko and Taz along with the rest of their boyhood crew and current B-Squad team members, Duke and Keir, breaking into the Devil's Dip Gym. Instead of turning the band of juvenile delinquents in to the cops, he'd taken them under his wing and trained them to be fighters. Taz had gone pro, making it all the way to the championship match. The other four had joined the military. After Freddie had died, the five of them made their way back to Fort Worth and the Devil's Dip Gym they all called home now. Isaac understood the connection and the meaning behind the gym even if he still thought it was crazy.
The front doors opened and Marko strolled in, looking like he could clean the floor with even the largest guy in the ring without breaking a sweat. Big didn't cover it. Snarly attitude didn't cover it. He looked like he kicked ass for a living and picked his teeth with the bones of his enemies. The fact that he glowered more than talked only enhanced the image.
"Morning, Mr. Chatty."
Marko jerked his chin in acknowledgement.
"What's the latest on Wolczyk?" Isaac asked.
"Sitting on his brains out front," Marko responded.
The urge to punch the mere idea of Tamara out of the bounty hunter's head had him fisting his hands. "Are you shitting me?" Isaac turned toward the door, but two heavy hands clamped down on his shoulders in mid-spin.
When he stopped moving he was almost nose to nose with one of his oldest friends and the best guy he could ever have next to him in a foxhole.
"Stop leading with your dick and your ego," Lash said, all the normal easy-going bullshitting charm draining right out of his voice. "You're not a one-man super show. We got this."
He thrust his forearms up and broke the other man's old. "How's that?"
"We'll let Wolczyk stew out front with his crappy cup of overpriced coffee and his talk radio, then go feed him some bullshit about Tamara's location," he said. "He can pass that news onto his client and then return to his normal routine of following cheating spouses."
Even through the misty red haze, he had to admit it wasn't a bad plan, but they were forgetting one thing. He shot a hard look at Marko. "Wolczyk's gotta still be pissed at you after his trip and fall at the club yesterday. He'll disregard any info you give him. I'll do it."
"You're not B-Squad, as you're so fond of telling us all the damn time," Lash said. "Why do you care so much?"
It was a question he didn't want to answer. "I don't care."
Marko snorted. "I think he has feelings. The kind that go straight to his sad excuse of a dick."
