Page 128 of Notorious

Scraping a sweaty hand through my hair, I check the map on my phone. “Yeah. You’ve dealt with surveillance? Security?”

Rowan smirks, and it’s disquieting. I don’t know much about this guy except that the prospect of violence seems to turn him on. “It’s taken care of.”

“You’re sure?” I clear my throat. My knee’s bouncing.

“Even the plates of this car can’t be traced. We’ve looped traffic cameras. It’s fine. I’d swear it on Charlie’s life,” he tells me solemnly.

Given the sincerity on his face—and how those two seem to be joined together with superglue—that seems like the biggest vow he could make.

“Okay,” I say, letting out a breath, and follow him out of the car, my heart rate skyrocketing. I’m wearing a plain gray hoodie that I borrowed from Johnny’s closet. It still doesn’t have strings in it, and it’s too big for me, but it manages to hide who I am.

Rowan has a tattoo on the back of his neck that says “Baby Boy.” He pulls a black hoodie up to cover it and his distinctive pink hair. He hands me gloves and a medical face mask and slips a gun into the back of his jeans. Johnny’s derringer is heavy against my side, making me feel faint.

“I thought we didn’t need to hide,” I say, biting my lip.

“Can’t be too careful.”

I’m doing this for Johnny. I need to get out of my own head. I close my eyes, center myself, and nod, then put on the gear.

We’re joined by some … muscle, I guess, who Rowan knows, and they’re wearing masks and gloves and are armed, too. I have barely any clue what to do with a gun. After his latest crisis, Johnny gently informed me that I should store his bullets separately from his derringer, so that if things ever got bad again, he’d have to get into two hiding places, not one.

I agreed and bought two proper safes. He doesn’t know the combination to either, and the bullets are in one, the gun in the other.

He also took me to a shooting range, and we took a gun safety course, but I still don’t feel comfortable with a weapon. I’m queasy, but I feel queasier when I think about what was done to Johnny. And I’m the one who can fix this situation.

Rowan’s bouncing on his heels and humming to himself. He’s energized, and it’s fascinating to me how different we are.

Johnny and I are comfy naps and walks on the beach with the dog.

Rowan’s relationship with Charlie seems like they’re willing to bring the other the hearts of their enemies.

Apparently they’re willing to bring me the heart of my enemy, too, and I’m grateful for that.

In general, violence is not at all my thing. But revenge for hurting my Johnny? Yes.

Despite my determination to do this, I really don’t want to end up in prison … or tank my momther’s career for good. So we’d better not get caught. But Rowan seems to know what he’s doing, so I’m letting him take the lead and hoping for the best.

The studio is quiet. It’s not quite four in the afternoon on a Monday, and there’s only one car in the parking lot besides ours. We timed it this way because during the trial I learned it’s Gary Pinkerton’s habit to watch footage when no one’s around, and they generally don’t film on Mondays.

At Rowan’s nod, the muscle kicks in the back door of the building, and we waltz into the office where Gary sits all alone, monitor on, a mess of invoices and notes all over his desk.

In a flash, Rowan has a gun cocked and pressed against Gary’s forehead.

“What? Who the fuck are you?” Gary hisses. Then his eyes widen as he recognizes me. He holds up a middle finger. “Oh, fuck you. Tell Johnny boo-hoo. We’re gonna appeal.”

“You will never say his name again,” I snarl. “You do not know Johnny Haskell or Velvet the Cowboy. You do not mention him or do anything to so much as inconvenience him. Ever.”

He rolls his eyes, but given there’s a gun pointed at his head, he wisely doesn’t move.

In a quiet voice, I say, “You are going to log on to your accounts—and we’re fully aware of the one in the Caymans and the two in Geneva—and make a series of transfers to the client trust account of Weston & Ramirez. Now.”

Gary flinches. Then he sneers. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, my friends here are going to remove your body parts one at a time.” The two big dudes move forward so there are now two more guns cocked at Gary’s head, which makes his complexion turn gray.

Since the other guys have Gary covered, Rowan puts the safety on his gun and shoves it in his waistband, then pulls out his switchblade, flicking it menacingly. For such a tiny dude, he’s fucking sinister. “Should I start with a finger or a testicle?”

“Fuck you,” Gary spits, then stiffens when the guns at his head press in tighter.

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