Oh shit.

I was not good at waiting for information. Especially if it was juicy. Especially if it had something to do with someone I cared about. And this sounded juicy and it definitely had something to do with someone I cared about.

“Uh… Zano,” I started. “Something to know about me—”

I stopped speaking because he smiled and that took all my attention.

Then he pulled me deep into his body and dipped his face close to mine.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he noted, still smiling.

“Cats have nine lives,” I replied and his smile instantly died.

“How many of those you gone through?”

Uh-oh.

We were hitting a conversational danger zone. This was because, counting nearly being blown up the day before, I suspected I was close to the end of my quota. I also suspected Ren knew that and didn’t like it all that much.

In an effort to prevent this talk from becoming a Talk, I stated, “I’ll wait until we have time for you to explain.”

“Good choice,” he returned.

“Now kiss me and go to work so I can go meet Indy,” I ordered and got the smile back.

Then I got his mouth back, another squeeze and a sweet, soft, “Later, baby,” before he let me go.

I watched him walk away.

And when he disappeared, I gave myself a moment to kick my own ass (mentally) for not initiating this together togetherness ages ago.

Then I got over it because it happened, I fucked up, it was over and there was nothing I could do about it. Except live in the now and make that now the best it could be, for me and for Ren.

I jumped off the counter, did the breakfast dishes and headed out to make amends with my friend.

Hopefully.

* * * * *

I was sitting outside a Starbuck’s in Cherry Creek North.

In other words, I was taking my life in my hands.

No joke.

This was not because there might be snipers (don’t think I’m kidding—I was a Rock Chick; anything goes when you’re a Rock Chick, the scarier, the more possible).

This was because, if Tex knew I was at a Starbuck’s, he’d lose his mind.

Tex felt, and shared this philosophy liberally, that the coffee counter at Fortnum’s was like your momma’s dining room table at Thanksgiving. That was to say, on Thanksgiving, your ass was at that table. You didn’t tell your mother you were going to a Chinese restaurant with your friends or suggest you have Thanksgiving catered at your house or explain you were taking that longed for, once in a lifetime vacation to a five star resort in Antigua.

You sat your ass at your momma’s table.

And you got your coffee from Tex. Even if you had to go out of your way, you went to Fortnum’s and Tex handed you your cup.

No excuses were accepted.

If you didn’t do this, things could get ugly.

So although I had a lot on my mind, I was also scanning the area just in case Tex’s radar pinged and sent him on a mission to ream my ass, throw away my latte and drag me to Fortnum’s to make me a coffee.

I knew this sounded weird. It was also true.

But outside of being unfaithful to Tex’s coffees and the possible consequences of that, what was on my mind wasn’t that I’d been waiting over an hour for Indy to show. It also wasn’t that none of the Hot Bunch were taking my calls so I could ask what was happening with Rosie. It further wasn’t the fact that this informational lockout pissed me off, considering I might not be a member of their team, but it was my apartment that had blown sky high because Rosie dropped my name, so I had the right to know.

What was on my mind was that my boss had called and told me not to go into work that night.

This was because I was fired.

He was nice about it, and truth be told, I was expecting it. He’d put up with me a lot longer than I would have put up with me, that was certain.

Suffice it to say, I wasn’t a stellar employee. Shit went down with the Rock Chicks, not to mention my cases, and there were only so many times you could call in when your friends had been kidnapped or you’d been in a high speed chase and totaled your car or you needed to stake out a cheating husband.

That shit no longer flew, even if my friend was buried alive and I was a key player in her rescue and the next day my apartment had exploded. Drinks needed to be served. I got that. And it had to be said, these excuses, although honest, were frequent. So I also got that would be a little alarming for any employer.

So now I had a lot to do, including serious shopping, which would have been made easier by the gift cards at my pad that were probably melted. My insurance would undoubtedly not cover everything, and my income had been significantly reduced. Fortnum’s sold a shitload of coffee and the tip jar was never light. Then again, the tips at Brother’s were a whole lot better, so that was going to be a hit.

I also had a decision to make because I’d known for some time a career as a bartender/barista was not for me.

Now I had an excuse to make things official.

But, although licensing was voluntary for investigators in Colorado, to be taken seriously and charge that way, I needed a license. And this might be a problem. I no doubt had the hours of investigation logged to get it. I just did not have those hours in any official capacity. Lee, Hank, Eddie or my dad would have to vouch for me, and the prospect of that happening was not rosy.

I also now had a boyfriend, and always had a family who would not take kindly to this career shift. And by “not take kindly” I meant their reactions would be volatile.

But it was what I wanted to do, and not on a whim. I’d been doing it for a long time, and loving it, and now I had the opportunity and the time to go for it.

I just had to manage the reactions of those around me.

On that thought, I activated my phone, checked the time then scanned the area.

Still no Indy.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like we didn’t disagree or even fight.

But this kind of silent anger was not her thing and it unnerved me.