Good Gone Bad (The Fallen Men 3)

So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do in that situation.

I threw him sass.

“As serious as a bullet to the brain,” I said, crossing my heart.

“Rosie…” he growled, all hot cop and restrained dirty Dom.

“Don’t do it,” I warned him.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me I can’t do it, because I’ll do it anyway and I’ll do it well. Don’t want you to have to swallow your words when I’m through because I proved you wrong.” I slid the two feet it took to press up against him in the dark, empty street, pressed my lips to his stubbled cheek and one hand, the hand holding my gun, to the inside of his thigh so I could press my fingers to the bulge tenting his denim. Yeah, my man got off on the danger just as much as I did.

“I’m not an idiot, Danner,” I reminded him on a rough squeeze of his hardening cock. “I read the rules before I break ‘em.”

He growled, but I broke free before he could kiss me the way his eyes told me he wanted to. We’d never get anything done if that happened.

“Now, give me a boost over this fence,” I ordered, brazenly ignoring the massive sign affixed to the metal that said, “PROPERTY OF VANCOUVER HARBOR AUTHORITY: KEEP OUT!”

I tucked my gun into my waistband as Danner sighed roughly and held out his hand for my boot so he could launch me up the fence. I scrambled up and flipped over to the other side, working my way down the ten-foot fence nimbly. Danner came after me, scaling the height as if he climbed fences every day of his life for years.

“You made that look easy,” I told him with an impressed eyebrow raise.

“Been a cop a long time. Undercover three years. What’s your excuse?” he asked, mirroring my expression.

I grinned. “Been a rebel a long time.”

He snorted. “Fuck me, come on let’s get this done so I can get you home and turn you over my fucking knee.”

I shivered but ran after him as he jogged into the stacks of multicoloured cargo containers piled up in the massive lot.

Grant Yves office was a trailer at the top of a ladder beside a crane that was used to move the containers off freighters and onto land. The light was still on in his office.

“Good luck. Stay safe,” Danner whispered when we reached the top of the platform and I moved forward to the door.

He kissed me roughly, relaying his anxiety in the only way he could.

I placed a soothing hand on his cheek, kissed him quickly then went to the door.

When Grant Yves answered, I was shocked.

He looked exactly like Jacob, his red hair so bright it shone like the orange outer ring of a flame in the light spilling out from his office.

“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly, looking passed me suspiciously.

“Yeah, um, I’m sorry to disturb you at work, but this was the only address I could find for you. I’m Harleigh Rose Maycomb, Farrah Maycomb’s daughter.”

Grant’s eyebrows shot into his hair. “No fuckin’ shit.”

There was a chance that he was still friends with my mother, after all, she’d practically bragged to me that she’d gotten Reaper his contact in the Port Authority.

But I was willing to bet my life that that wasn’t the case.

Farrah wasn’t real good at keeping friends.

“Yeah, unfortunately for me,” I said with a thin smile and a shrug. “I’m actually here to talk to you about Jacob and Honey, I’m hoping to find them. I’d really like to get to know my sister and thank Jacob for the small solace he gave me and my brother when he was in our lives.”

His face transformed, the suspicion falling away to give way for sympathy. “Yeah, yer Ma was a real piece of fuckin’ work. Sorry you had to deal with it growin’ up.”

I shrugged. “Shit happens to everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice suddenly heavy. “Why don’t you come inside, darlin’?”

I smiled gratefully at him, hiding my inner triumph and slipped past him into the office. He took a seat at his L-shaped desk and gestured to me to do the same in the chair across from him.

“Listen, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Jacob died in a car crash years ago now. I tried to get custody of Honey, sweet kid, but the province wouldn’t grant me shit with her mum alive and kickin’ so I lost. Has to be goin’ on two years now that I haven’t seen the kid, though she’s runaway to me before.”

God, my heart clenched with sympathy for my half-sister.

I’d only lived with Farrah for nine years. I couldn’t image what sixteen of those would do to a girl.

“Damn,” I muttered, frantically trying to think of an angle to sway him to the blue side. “I really need to find her.”