The Hit (Team Zulu 1)

All right, a pity dinner. Let’s call it that and move on.

I sat across from her and wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. I needed a drink. Cam had already started on her salad when I reached for the bottle of red. “I’ve had this for a while. I don’t really drink wine, but it should be decent. It’s Chianti from Italy.” I showed her the fancy label. “You want some?”

With her mouth full, she covered her lips with one hand and nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

I didn’t own wine glasses, the unsophisticated animal that I was, so I opened the bottle and poured it into two whiskey tumblers.

She didn’t mention anything about that as I passed her a glass. Instead, she sniffed the contents. “Was it a gift?”

“A gift?”

“Yeah. You said you don’t drink wine, so I figured it must’ve been an unwanted Christmas present or something.”

I chose not to tell her I couldn’t remember the last time someone gave me a Christmas gift. How I acquired the wine wasn’t any easier to talk about. “I sort of… found it while working. It’s sat in the cupboard because I don’t have people over much. Well, ever, if I’m being honest. Apart from Ranger, you’re the only other person who’s been up here.”

Hearing his name, Ranger’s head popped up over the back of the sofa.

Cam chuckled. “I like that you think of him as a person. There’s so much intelligence in his eyes. He’s special.”

She didn’t know the half of it. Some days, Ranger was the only thing connecting me to this world. He was my constant companion, hunting partner, and accidental therapy dog. His presence had pulled me back from some of my darkest moments. “Yeah, but don’t let him hear you say that. He already thinks he runs the show.”

Cam smirked, proving she was firmly on team Ranger. I wasn’t sure what to think about how fast they’d taken to each other.

We both took a sip of wine, and Cam nodded her approval. She rolled her lips while considering the red, her brow knitted in concentration. “Shep?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not drinking a dead man’s wine, am I?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t need it anymore.”

Her eyes bugged out. “Oh God, you’re serious.” Her face twisted as she placed the glass back on the table. “Please tell me he was a terrible person.”

“One of the worst, believe me.” I sipped my wine without an ounce of guilt over where it had come from. It was decent, too. Should’ve known a captain of the Mafia would drink quality red.

She smiled and shook her head. “You know, I can categorically say this is the weirdest date I’ve ever been on.”

I nodded. Perhaps she didn’t realize what she’d said, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to call her out on it, but it couldn’t be a good thing that it sent a small thrill through my blood.

We both dug into our food, and even though neither of us spoke for a time, the silence didn’t feel awkward.

Today, I hadn’t been short tempered like I often was around people. It surprised me, but I was comfortable around Cam. Even talking to her was easy. She intrigued me and I wanted to know more about her. Not technical details like I’d already gathered from my investigations, but personal things: what made her tick, what made her smile. We’d be spending a lot of time together, so it only made sense that I was curious. At least, that’s what I told myself.

“So, an automotive mechanic is an interesting career choice for a woman.”

Cam rolled her eyes, then pointed her fork at me. “Don’t you start with that chauvinistic bullshit. I was just starting to like you.”

Her last comment almost made me choke on my food. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s awesome that you work on cars.” I didn’t mention I thought it was sexy as fuck. “What got you interested?”

“I’ve loved cars since I was a kid. Helen, the Camaro, she’s mine now, but she used to be Dad’s. He wasn’t much of a parent, but he let me help polish her, change the oil, that sort of stuff.” She smiled and our eyes met. “That’s where my passion for classic cars started.”

“You named the Camaro Helen?”

“Not me. Her original owner, before Dad got her. The guy obsessed over her. Story goes he named her Helen, as in ‘Helen of Troy,’ the most beautiful woman who ever lived.” She arched a brow. “Odd name for a badass car, right? But it seemed wrong to change it. Dad won her playing cards. Must’ve been the only decent thing he got out of his gambling and get-rich-quick schemes.” She twirled spaghetti on her fork and popped it in her mouth.

My eyes followed the tip of her tongue as it slid over her top lip.

“This is delicious,” she said, scooping up more pasta. She’d almost cleared the plate.