Pot meet kettle, though, because there’s suddenly a grizzled older male voice calling from off-screen. “Love? Did you want to take care of canning those cherries tonight before they start to go bad? They’ll get freezer burned soon.”
The transformation on her face is almost shocking. Warmth, sweetness, love as she looks at the mystery man. “In a little bit, dear. I’m busy doing espionage.”
“No more international incidents,” the guy says without missing a beat, and she smirks.
“I make no promises,” she says, then turns back to us—only for her expression to go flat, needling. “What?”
Leo grins, a wolfish expression on his scarred face.
“Settling into domestic bliss, are you? You’re a natural, Delaney.”
“Oh, you—shut up. I don’t need to hear anything from you of all people.” She points a manicured finger at him, but she no longer seems so razor-sharp. “Just give me the details. Quit wasting my time.”
I suck down another big pull of coffee, gathering my thoughts.
“We’re looking for intel on the Lockwood crime syndicate,” I say. “Specifically, we’re trying to track down the location of its head, Paisley Lockwood, daughter of former boss Kurt Lockwood. They’ve got a stranglehold on the regional drug market, and one of our locals got mixed up with them in some real ugly ways.”
“You’re talking about Felicity Randall and her father Morgan Randall. Predictable,” Fuchsia says absently, muttering to herself under her breath as she turns away. I can’t quite see what she’s doing, but the glow of a screen washes over her face, followed by the sound of rapid-fire typing.
I blink at her.
“How...how’d you know?”
“Oh, I had dossiers on everyone who’s ever set foot in that godforsaken little town. Another life,” she says like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Who is this woman? “Lockwood, hm? If I recall, they were the big hand behind that little drug ring that used to be in your backyard a few years ago. That gives me a good place to start.”
“What about Galentron?” Warren asks, scratching his beard. He’s been so silent up till now I almost forgot he was there. He’s intensely focused, watching Fuchsia like a hawk. “You can’t tell me the higher-ups weren’t into some heavy stuff. The Lockwoods run a lot of shit out of Washington, Oregon, even up in Vancouver. With the Galentron outfit up there...”
“Yes, yes, I’m already ahead of you, you don’t have to tell me,” she says impatiently, then frowns. “Hmm. It’s going to take me a bit to get an accurate bead on her location, however, I found something interesting.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “What’s that?”
She smirks. “You aren’t the only ones after her. Apparently, princess dearest lacks both her father’s subtlety and his business savvy, hiding his scummy dealings inside more legitimate organizations—and she’s been so brazen that the FBI has a significant reward out for information leading to her arrest. You boys have stumbled into something fun, haven’t you?”
Fun, no.
Interesting, yeah.
Because I can’t help but think that taking down Paisley Lockwood could kill two birds with one stone.
Remove the threat hanging over Felicity’s head.
Then make sure she’ll never want for anything again, without even having to dream of dipping into that tainted gold.
Clean reward money. Well-earned.
If it could save the girl I’ve fallen for, why not?
Why the hell wouldn’t I deliver her future—a life worth living—right on a golden platter?
We don’t linger long.
Everyone’s got their own lives to get back to—wives, kids, plus Eli’s waiting for me up at the big house with Ms. Wilma. Fuchsia said she’ll get in touch with us when she’s got more intel that’ll lead us to Paisley and let us get to her without getting ourselves killed.
So I guess it’s a waiting game.
I’m the last one out of Holt’s office, so I figure now’s a better time than never. I linger near the door, clearing my throat.
He glances up from shutting down his workstation, gold eyes watching me thoughtfully. “What’s up, man?”
“Well...” I sigh. “You remember that shit with me getting into a brawl at the gas station, right?”
“You think I could forget?” He grins, one-sided and rakish. Funny how both he and that Fuchsia woman have naturally mocking grins, but while hers is cold as steel, his is friendly, like he’s sharing some raunchy inside joke. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you throw a punch in all the years I’ve known you. Asshole must’ve really pissed you off.”
“...he’s actually an old friend,” I grind out. “Name’s Gavin Coakley.”
My gut sinks when I say it, even if it’s based on a terrible truth. He doesn’t need to know the whole story about the mine.
“Anyhow, he’s down on his luck. Looking for part-time work. He knows construction and he can handle the machinery. Used to work the mines with me back up in Alaska.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Holt says.
Crap.
“Yeah? No problem. I didn’t make him any promises—”