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“Alright, send it as soon as you get off. If you don’t, I’m calling you back, sis.”
There’s a tremor in her voice when she responds, “Okay, sis.”
I stare at the phone on the same lungful of oxygen when Justice’s iPhone status is shared. I kiss a frowning Mia on the forehead and tell her that I have to go.
* * *
Silently,I grab my purse and keys and pull into a jacket. When I close the front door behind me, the knob locks.
I waver the second I turn toward the road, sucking on a chilly inhale of air.
“There’s no boogeyman with a Glock in hand,” I mutter to myself, heading toward the Chevelle SS. Damn, I’m gonna burn through crazy gas traveling to New Mexico. My key jiggles into the door handle when a familiar masculine and very Scottish voice snarls, “Where ya think ye’re goin’, lass?”
At the threatening tone, I drop the keys. Closing my eyes for a split second, I bite a retort. I start to snatch the keys from the ground when Brody does it for me. He places them in his pocket.
“Don’t make me kick your ass,” I snarl.
“I miss the auld Chevelle who pinned me with lethal, bonny brown eyes but kept her mouth shut.”
“It’s a new day. I have somewhere to be.”
Brody arches a brow. I place my hand on my hip, prepared to wait him out. I’d say there’s a five o’clock shadow on his face, but he’s always sporting a beard. Now, he’s got tired, dark moons beneath his eyes. He smells good, though. He must’ve come from a shower.
Brody mutters, “Was on my way to sleep when I heard yer mate’s sob story.”
“Oh, so that’s why you're wearing your best pair of jeans?”And a flannel that’s giving off brawny vibes, but I refuse to say that.
“I’m going with ya.”
“No.”
“Me or Leith?” He leans an elbow against the Chevy. “Who should accompany ye? The oneye love to hate or the oneye hate to love?”
Fingers flexing, I cease the sudden need to slap the smirk off his face. “Why?”
“I dinna trust that bitch.”
In a few steps, I’m glaring up into his intimidating face. “Call my friend a bitch again.”
“Relax, wee one. As much as I’d like to screw her, we can’t trust her.”
I glance around. The street has reclaimed its peaceful, serene nature. Except, there’s this muscle-bound asshole. “LittleBrody, what do you mean?”
“When ye drove off like a bat outta Hell, I tried yer friend. This morning, before meeting Leith here, I tried ya again there—at yer friend’s—since ye’dtaken the Chevelle SS. And we couldn’t use LoJack.”
“So what?”
“I asked a fella in the same complex we dropped her off at. He said she’d moved.”
I arch a brow, not humoring him with a response. She moved the other day. However, I discerned from our conversation that it had something to do with the person she’s running from.
“The girl moved days ago. Where was she between then and now when she claims to have fled town?”
I lift my hands in exasperation. Brody holds out a set of keys.
“Hey, these aren’t—”
“They’re to my Silverado. Like I said the other night, Chevelle, I’m a different guy.”
