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“Said her name was Claire Dupree. Sounded like money,” Sarah assessed. “I pointed out that the park isn’t air conditioned, but she insisted.”
“Weird, but okay,” I said, pulling open a desk drawer and retrieving the Sig I kept there.
She might sound like money, but given the events of my life lately, I wasn’t taking any chances.
I could take her donation check armed just as well as not.
By the time I reached the park, I could feel sweat dotting my forehead and dripping down my back. I could think of about a million better places in Savannah to stage this little tete-a-tete, but funding was funding, and if the eccentric socialite wanted to hold a meeting in a sauna, then so be it.
And as soon as I walked through the wrought iron gate, I saw her.
The woman who stood to face me was tall, slim, and seemed to be carved from solid ebony. Her dark hair was close cropped to her head, and gold hoops glinted at her ears.
Her white blouse and black trousers were tailored to perfection.
She was, without a doubt, one of the most stunning women I’d ever seen.
“Claire Dupree,” she said. “I’m here to help.”
My brows rose. “Gate called you?” I asked.
“Nothing so mundane as that,” Claire laughed. “I was sent in response to Gate’s call.”
“Which agency?”
“None that you’d know,” she evaded.
I nodded, evaluating. Gate didn’t fuck around, so if Claire was the answer to some favor Gate had called in, she was legit, and I needed to make the most of it.
“We need an undercover op with some kind of power behind us because we’re going after some heavy hitters, and I’d rather not get my ass handed to me for going rogue. Although, without a doubt, that’s what I’m doing. And as soon as we nail these bastards to the wall, I want out.”
Claire nodded, “I have a plan and the authority to see it carried out.”
“Do I even need to ask?”
Claire grinned, “You’d probably rather not.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Oh,I’mnot going to do anything. You are.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I’d Kill a Motherfucker
Anna
Supposedly, the way to a man’s heart is his stomach, and while I felt confident that I already had Gate’s heart, I wasn’t above using food as a bribe to help make what I was about to tell Gate go down a little easier.
So when I heard his Harley, I lit the candles and gave the table I’d set earlier one last check.
Gate’s favorite Chinese food, Moo Goo with a side of General Tso, beer for him, wine for me, and I’d picked up a coconut cream pie from a bakery on the way home.
Gate did his thing at the front door and walked into the dining room, sniffing the air.
“Chinese?”
Then he clocked the table.
