When He's Dirty (Walker Security - Adrian's Trilogy 1)
“That’s where my head is at,” Adam says. “And that’s what I told Blake.”
“And he said?”
“What better way to ensure Ed isn’t re-elected but to kill him?”
“And what better way to ensure the next DA won’t repeat the same mistake that got Ed killed,” I follow. I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’ll give Jacob a heads up.” I punch in the text and my phone rings with Pri’s number in my hand. “Pri,” I say, glancing at Adam. “Make sure there’s nothing on the security feed.”
Adam nods and disappears and I answer the call. “See?” I ask. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That is good to know, but I wasn’t testing you. I just wanted to say, I’m not going to run. I skip a day here or there. It shouldn’t seem off.”
“You’re safe,” I say, sitting on the weight bench when Adam re-appears in the doorway and offers me a thumbs-up on her safety.
“That’s not it.”
“Then why?” I press.
“Four reasons. Three of which are the champagne, pizza, and morning after sex effect. The fourth, I have work on my mind. I’m going to head to the coffee shop in about half an hour and get some work done. Something is bugging me about that entire Logan exchange. I need to figure out what.”
My lips press together. I could tell her what’s bugging her, and I will, but not on the phone and not when she’s on her way out into the world, where she’ll feel more exposed and vulnerable. Tonight. When we can talk it out. “I can’t come. I’ve risked being out in public with you too much.”
“I know,” she says. “Besides, it’s Rafael I have my coffee dates with. See you soon.” She hangs up and I stand, glancing at Adam, who’s holding the doorway up with his shoulder. “Coffee shop in half an hour. I need a fast shower.” I close the space between me and him and he doesn’t move.
“You can’t go.” He crosses his arms, stubbornly holding his position in the doorway. “You just told her that and you were right. As it is, you pushed your luck going to that party the night you met her. You could have been recognized.”
“I knew who was there and I didn’t stay long.”
“You’ve been seen with her too often.”
“Not by the wrong people,” I argue, but I don’t push. “I’ll cover the outside. You go inside. I want you to stay close to her if I can’t be.”
“That,” he says, “I’ll agree to. You’ll stay outside. Say it.”
“I’ll stay outside, asshole, now move.” He backs away.
I pass him and call over my shoulder. “Unless you’re getting your ass kicked.”
Or, I add silently, since I seem to have staked an obvious claim on Pri, anyone comes at Pri the wrong way. For instance, her ex, Logan. That one I do believe I’d enjoy.Chapter Twenty-TwoPRI
I choose a pink dress with a snug thick belt, fitted bodice, and flared skirt. I do so in an effort to appear to have a narrow waist, big breasts, and long legs. No. I do it to look good for Adrian. As my mother would say, I’m smitten. Ridiculously so. And I’m headed toward heartache if I’m not careful. But as I said last night, I’m practically on death row. I’m going to live while I can.
Once I’ve packed my trusty handgun and have my purse and briefcase over my shoulder, I secure the house and step outside, having already decided to walk to the coffee shop. I can’t function in a bubble of fear, nor, as Adrian pointed out, does it send the intended message that all is normal with me. If I’m being watched by someone other than Adrian’s people, they’re at least still present. I’m safe.
The morning is nice, on the cooler side today, if that’s what you call the seventies, though who knows if that will last. It’s Texas. We celebrate when our legs don’t burn on the car seat.
Once I’m at the coffee shop, I order a butterscotch latte with skim milk and settle into a chair at a corner table. Heavy on my mind is the deal Waters wants to make to hand over Whitaker in exchange for a lesser sentence, namely Logan’s unexpected involvement. I don’t have a history with Whitaker at my father’s firm, and didn’t know him to be a client, but it’s a large firm. What I do have is a list of all the firm’s clients at the time I left. I pull up my old computer folder, sipping my coffee while scanning the list and I find that I’m right. Whitaker was not a client. And why would he be? He’s an attorney. He has his own firm. The whole situation feels off.
I decide that the places my mind is taking me right now lead to my father, and I don’t want to believe that. In other words, I have to call him, which means I deserve a slice of chocolate bread first, which is a specialty here and quite wonderful. I push to my feet and slide my purse over my shoulder when normally I would not, but the gun inside feels rather special right now. Hurrying to the register while no one is in line, I place my order and move to the end of the counter. With my bag of warm, chocolate-iced bread in hand, I am on my way back to my table when a tall, burly man in jeans and a leather jacket steps in front of me. He’s forty-something, with brown spiky hair, tattoos all over his body, and sharp, jagged features.