Page 6 of Secrets

“Cops can take care of those guys.I want him.”

As much as I want the manunderthe damn jail, I have to give credit where it’s due. Alexi is smart, cunning, and clearly impervious to the law. At least, he has been thus far.

Not for much longer, though. I’m close. Closer than I’ve ever been, thanks to that vial. Thanks to Julio.

A small, deeply embedded needle twists somewhere behind my ribcage. Julio was a mayor here in Georgia who was as corrupt as they come. Because I hadn't necessarily been very quiet about my vendetta against the Babins, he sought me out—albeit at the time I didn’t know—and, against my uncle’s advice, we worked together to try to bring Alexi down. As our working relationship unfolded, though, the mask of who Julio truly was slipped, but I overlooked the shitty person he was in an attempt to get what I wanted. Not my proudest moment, and definitely one I fully regret, because I got nothing out of it in the end.

Just a few months later, Julio was found dead—cause of death: cardiac arrest. He was a tad too young to succumb to a heart attack, but because of his less-than-stellar image, no one would’ve been the wiser if it weren’t for a vial found in his office. The killer was sloppy, in a rush, nervous, or perhaps so angry that they accidentally dropped it.

At least, I’mhopingit was left by the murderer and not some drugs Julio was doing. I still don’t have the report back to be one hundred percent sure, but my gut says I’m finally going to have him by the balls. Which reminds me—I need to get a manicure soon before I crush his sack in my fist.

“That man should not be your priority anymore, Jay. It’s time to move on.” Jenna’s voice borders on whining, and I can feel the warmth of the liquor beginning to fizzle.

No. I’m not about to ruin my night arguing logistics and my non-obsessed-obsession with the Babin Family. Babin. God, I even hate his last name. It sounds so meek, so…unthreatening.

As if Tim can read my mind, he slides two more shots across the bar. “Alright, no more work talk. Drink these and then go beat Berks at pool. He’s taking bets tonight.”

My lips curve in a small, grateful smile before I accept the glasses and swallow each one down in a single breath. The taste isn’t as bad this time.

“Oh, well, it’d be my pleasure to rid him of his whole wallet.” I shoot Little Tim a wink before spinning on my stool. Only instead of it rotating all the way around to face the pool table in one fluid motion, it stops short.

That’s when I see it.

The cause of the thrill I felt when I walked in.

All the way at the back of the bar, sitting completely alone, is a woman. Her head is turned, only giving me her profile, but that’s all I need to see she’s absolutely stunning.

Tan skin, long red curls that cascade over her shoulders and down her back, luscious lips and a dark fan of lashes. She’s focused on something outside the window, but as though she can feel the burn of my stare, her eyes flit to mine.

My breath catches in my throat, her gaze completely disarming me with its ferocity. She’s a little too far away to make out the color of her irises, but that doesn’t stop the shiver that rakes down my spine. The tingles.

I want to get closer to her. No. Ineedto.

Swinging back around, I order another drink and a croissant—fresh ones Tim only stocks for me because he willingly supports my gluten addiction.

“Here’s your drink, and what she’s drinking.” Tim shoots me a sly smile before sliding two glasses across the bar, his eyes flashing over my shoulder to where the woman is. “I’ll throw your bread in the toaster oven.”

“Croissant,” I correct, before thanking him, snagging the two drinks, and hopping down from the stool.

The mysterious woman’s gaze is still on me, her brows slanted inward ever so slightly. I can tell she’s curious as to who I am, yet cautious as to why I’m approaching her. At least, that’s what the first glance says.

On second, her posture gives her away.

Relaxed shoulders, tilted head, legs crossed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s anticipating me. Or perhaps someone as gorgeous as her is simply used to people approaching her.

As I near, my eyes do a quick sweep of her outfit—smooth black jeans, cream blouse, ankle boots—before I decide she isn’t a cop. At least, not one on duty. Still, I opt to have her disclose that.

“Rough shift?”

Her eyes flash for a second, and now that I’m close enough, I can finally appreciate the color. Green. Bright green. At least three different shades mixed into one, like a watercolor painting of a mossy forest receiving the first bit of sun in the morning. I could get lost in them and not give an entire fuck if I’m never found.

“I’m sorry?” Her voice is low, a tad raspy. It glides over my skin like the fancy satin sheets I’ve been eyeing at Macy’s.

“At work.” I gesture behind me to the sea of badges. “Are you in law enforcement?”

The mysterious woman’s gaze flickers behind me and it’s in that brief second when her eyes aren’t on me, I find myself disgruntled. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

My brow furrows. “So you’re not a cop?”

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