“By the time Mace got to Kevin’s, Rosie had bailed,” Hank shared.
I felt my gut get tight.
Not again.
“You’re shitting me,” I snapped.
“We got a BOLO on him, and Ally,” he got close, “you lay low. We also called down to New Mexico. These guys who want his action, they’re not good guys.”
“I kinda put that together, bro,” I replied.
“No, I mean, these guys are not your garden variety assholes,” Hank returned.
“Wiring a bomb to a detonator to take out a woman who’s an undetermined threat told me that already.”
Hank nodded, then informed me, “Darius is on that. And you let him work that without your help. You deal with all the other shit that’s going down.”
Bossy.
Gack.
It was all around me.
Before I could call him on it, we saw movement and turned to watch a stony-faced Lee approach and yank open the door. The bell over it rang and I knew attention came to us, but I didn’t take my eyes off Lee.
“You okay?” I asked, and he tore his gaze from where it was pointed in the store, and without turning to see if I was accurate I knew he was looking at Indy, before he looked down at me.
“Fuck no.”
Well, that didn’t leave any room for interpretation.
“So I’m not in the mood for you to piss me off,” he went on then finished, “More.”
I lifted my hands, palms out. “Dude, I’m just standing here.”
He scowled at me. Then he looked at Hank.
Then he prowled into the store.
Hank and I watched him, and then I called Hank’s attention back to me.
“You know you and Roxie are volume three.”
“I know. Brody found the website and sent the word out.”
“Is he looking into a hack of the feeds?” I asked.
“As we speak,” Hank answered.
I studied him. He didn’t look happy. I didn’t like my brothers unhappy so I leaned into him, bumping his arm with my shoulder and staying close.
“You know,” I said softly. “It might be a good idea to adopt Tod’s attitude. He thinks it’s hilarious.”
“Not sure I can get there, honey,” Hank said softly back.
I nodded. I was with him.
“Oh my God!” Tod yelled and Hank and I both looked his way. “Cherry and the Chinese restaurant!” He kept yelling, his book open in front of him, his face lit up with humor, his lips smiling and his eyes on Indy. “Your outfit that night, girlie… lush. Too bad it got covered in hot and sour soup and fried rice.”
My eyes slid to Lee, who was not smiling. Then to Indy, who was glaring at Tod.
But my mind went to Girls Night Out two years ago when Indy got in a catfight with Lee’s ex, Cherry.
Her outfit was lush (Indy’s, not Cherry’s; I hated Cherry, she was a lying, bitchy skank, though it was kinda harsh she nearly exploded in a car bomb—karma, totally a bitch).
Indy’s outfit did get covered in soup.
That had been a good night.
The best.
Or, as it was with the Rock Chicks, one of many bests.
And now it was laid out on pages for all the world to read.
And I couldn’t stop that small part of me thinking that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Because it wasn’t perfect, none of it.
