Page 57 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

“My brother.”

Atlee shot me look as realization hit me. The various faces of Kato’s dates flew through my mind. Was I sitting in possible remnants of my brother’s spunk? Eww. Now I had to burn the seat.

“You don’t happen to have a flamethrower on you, do you?”

“Sorry. That’s in my other car.”

He said that so nonchalantly that I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“I’m not talking to you anymore. You make me want to jump out of a moving vehicle.” I reached out and cranked up the volume.

He tried to say something, but I just held up my finger, sang, “bye, bye, bye,” and wagged my head in time with the beat.

After a few minutes, Atlee gave up and joined me in my car dance. Not only was the bastard good at it, but he danced circles around me. No one should be able to move their hips like that in a confined space.

Not wanting to see anymore, I turned the music off and curled my lip at him. “What the hell was that?”

He smiled back at me. “Are you jealous that I can dance better than you?”

“No. But I’m a little worried that you got me pregnant.”

“Don’t worry,” he shot me a wink. “I always wrap my shit.”

That was something I didn’t need a visual of.

Atlee sat back and watched me, which normally wouldn’t bother me. He checked me out at least ten times a day. But there was something different in his whiskey eyes. Something almost inquisitive. It made me very uncomfortable.

“Can I help you?”

If he was going to be a perv then be a perv. Don’t stare at me without sexual intent. That was just wrong.

“I was just wondering if Gio knows?”

“If he knows what?”

That his car dancing had the power of impregnation? Atlee was going to have to be more specific. There was a lot Gio didn’t know. Like the itching powder I sprinkled on the front seat of his Range Rover—he really should lock that thing—or theconversation I had with the FBI agent who conveniently bumped into me at the store yesterday.

Agent Jack Donovan said I needed to keep in contact. To be fair, I was busy with other things and kind of forgot he existed, which by the way was not a good excuse according to him. But if he wanted reliability then he wouldn’t have come to me.

“Does Gio know how smart you are?”

“The correct term is intelligent. Does Gio know how intelligent I am.” That’s right, I was going to be that person today. “And I don’t think Gio is interested in my intelligence.”

“He would if he knew that your IQ was 121.”

How the hell did he know that? “What did you do, look at my file?”

“Yeah.”

Well, okay then.

“I wouldn’t pay attention to that. The test was done in grade school. I’m sure I’ve killed a couple dozen points with alcohol by now.” And that was before counting the numerous times I’d hit my head. “Why were you looking at my file anyway?”

“I like to be informed about the people around me.”

“Does that include the train of girls you’ve slept with?” Because that was a lot of people to be informed about.

Atlee’s lip curled. “Why the hell would I give a shit about them?”

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