Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“You gotta stay the course,” he said. “We don’t have the information we need yet.”
“How much proof do you need?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “The Nighthawk Raiders are fucked, it’s obvious. Why can’t we just sweep in and take over? They’re a support club—not like they have any rights in the situation. We come in, we clean house. Problem solved.”
Picnic sighed. “You know it’s more complicated than that. It’s not just about them. Marsh is working with someone north of the border and we don’t know who. We step in now, we’ve only solved half the problem. His partners will find some other asshole to work with. We need more information so we can shut them down for real.”
“I need Tinker safe.”
He didn’t say anything for long seconds.
“How important is this woman to you?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean, I want to fuck her. Can’t stop thinking about it.”
“So you want to blow a major operation because you’re horny?”
I considered the question, then figured I might as well lay it all out for him.
“No,” I said. “I mean, yeah, I wanna fuck her. But it’s more than that. There’s something about her. I can’t quite explain it, but I’m thinkin’ about her a lot. Maybe . . . I dunno.”
“Never heard you talk like this. Surprises me.”
“You and me both.”
“Okay. Hang on as long as you can and keep us posted. You’re the one with eyes on the situation. If you need backup or something, let me know. We could also extract her. If you’re serious about her, I mean.”
I considered the suggestion.
“Think I might be.”
Picnic gave a short laugh. “This should be entertaining.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I’d rather fuck London,” he said. “Hang in there, okay? We’ve got your back. And remember, pulling her out is still an option if you think she’s in real danger. I’ll ride over and do it myself. It’ll scare the shit out of her, though, so let’s not pull the trigger on that unless we’re out of options.”
“Sounds good,” I told him. Then I thought of something. “Pic, can you do me a favor?”
“Possibly.”
“You ever hear of a prosecutor named Brandon Graham? He’s the director of the King County criminal division.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said. “I can ask around, see if we’ve got any intel. Why?”
“Well, technically he’s married to Tinker Garrett.”
Picnic burst out laughing. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. You can’t keep it simple, can you?”
“Just tell me what you find out,” I replied, wishing he were here in person so I could flip him off. “I gotta get to work. Should probably make sure Tinker’s okay this morning, too. That’ll be a fun conversation.”
Picnic snorted, and I hung up on his ass. Then I stood slowly, running a hand through my hair. I’d well and truly fucked things up, no question. Still, remembering the feel of her mouth under mine I couldn’t quite regret it.
Damn.
Peaches.
• • •
I spent the morning working on the roof, keeping an eye out for Tinker. We needed to talk. I could’ve gone down to her shop, of course, but that felt too much like an ambush—no point in making things worse.
A gray Suburban pulled up around two in the afternoon, and I watched from above as she jumped out and went into the house. Where was the Mustang? Climbing down, I brushed off my brown Carhartts and walked over to the door, ringing the bell. Her dad answered.
“Is Tinker around?” I asked.
“Yes, but she’s busy,” he said. His eyes were alert today, not confused. “Guess we’re going to Seattle for a couple days. She says she needs to use the fancy kitchen there, but I don’t like it.”
He leaned toward me, his voice low. “I think she’s really going so she can see her husband. I just hope she’s not planning on getting back together with the asshole. Never liked him.”
Fair enough. I didn’t like the fucker much, either.
“Look, I really need to talk to her,” I said. “It’s important. About the building. It’ll only take a few minutes—think you can let me in?”
He studied me, then nodded his head. “See if you can talk her out of it.”
Stepping back, he made room for me to follow him into the living room, then disappeared into the back of the house to find his daughter. I studied the place while I waited. It was pretty, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Lots of dark trim and furniture with wooden legs. Lamps with beaded shades. Polished hardwood floors. Made me think of the tea shop, like something out of a different time.
Tinker was like that in a way, too, with her retro hair and pinup girl outfits.
“Dad says there’s something wrong?” Tinker asked, her voice abrupt. I looked up to find her standing in the archway between the living and dining rooms, arms crossed over her chest. Her face was tight with strain. You really fucked it up this time, asshole.