“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She wraps her arms around my waist and places her cheek between my shoulder blades. As I feel her chest rise and fall against my back, I try to match my breaths with hers.
Closing my eyes, I lean back to get more contact. I’m becoming very aware of her hand placed against my stomach, and how easy it would be to have her move it down a little. Her touch moves from calming to electrifying, and I turn to face her.
I run one hand up her arm and over her shoulder. I pause when I reach her cheek, cupping her jaw in my hand. She looks up at me with clear, blue eyes and runs her tongue over her lips. She drops her gaze to my mouth, and I can sense her anticipation.
Is this what I want? Is this what I need?
I have no idea, but I know it feels right for now. At this moment, it’s all I can think about. I wrap my other arm around her waist, pull her tight against me, and lean forward.
My phone goes off.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter as I release Alina and grab for the phone on the counter. It’s Rinaldo, and he summons me to his office immediately.
“Sorry,” I say as I hand her some cash. “I have to run. Hope you can find your way home all right.”
“I’ll be fine.” She touches my forearm and looks up at me. “Will you be all right?”
I give her the most convincing smile I can muster.
“I’ll be just perfect.”
*****
It’s too early in the morning to be doing business on the weekend, and I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have a headache. The sun is well over the horizon out the east-side window of Rinaldo’s office. I’ve already been here an hour, and I really just want to find that hooker again and go back to bed.
“So what’s missing?” I ask.
Becca hands me another spreadsheet with a list of guns we have yet to recover from Junko and the other leftovers from Marcello’s gang. Most of them had been returned, but a significant number had disappeared altogether.
“All handguns,” Becca says. “More Rugers than anything else.”
“A dozen Ruger LC9s and four Glocks.” I toss the list back at her. “The Rugers are good ones and easy to conceal. Accurate, too.”
“You think they kept them?” Beni asks.
“Only if they’re idiots.” I look up at him and raise my eyebrows.
“Are they idiots?” Becca asks.
“They are.” I pull out my Beretta and check the clip. I already know it’s full, but I feel the need to confirm it anyway. I just might be headed south.
“So, what do we do next?” Becca slides the papers into a large envelope and closes it with a metal clasp.
“Jonathan, what intel do you already have?”
“Well, none of them have appeared for sale on the street,” he says. “I’m sure of that. I did track the van that moved some of them to a rail yard. The camera angle isn’t right to see just what happens, but they meet up with two other guys for about ten minutes, then go their separate ways.”
“Which guys?” I ask.
“Can’t tell for sure.” Jonathan pulls up the surveillance on his laptop. “White dudes, I can say that. Tried enhancing the picture, but the camera is too far away.”
The picture is grainy and taken from a distance. I can make out two men wearing the kind of grey-blue overalls guys in mechanic shops wear. One of them strikes me as familiar but only slightly. I don’t think I actually know him, but maybe I should. I can’t put my finger on it.
“So Marcello sold some of them off early,” Paulie says. “He probably made a deal with someone before he even got the weapons—maybe in exchange for info on them.”
He’s really getting on my nerves. He’s also probably right.
“I want to know who Marcello met.” I tap at the screen. “White or not, they could still be southern gangs.”