Page 73 of Spinner's Luck

It was packed, ready to roll. My go-bag strapped down, my weapons within reach. I was ready to tear through hell to find her.

But my head was still spinning, Lucy’s words from that night lodged in my skull like shrapnel.

You’re going to regret this.

I did.

More than she’d ever know.

I swung my leg over the seat, the engine roaring to life beneath me.

As I pulled out of the lot, only one thought ran through my head.

I had to find her.

No matter what.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“YOU SHOULD REALLYconsider investing in a bigger trash can,”I said, picking up an empty soda can and tossing it toward the already overflowing one in the corner. It clattered onto the floor instead.

Oliver didn’t even glance up from his monitor. “That one is fine. It doubles as modern art.”

I snorted, leaning against the edge of his desk. “You’re a lost cause.”

“Says the woman who’s been sleeping on my couch for two weeks and hasn’t unpacked a single thing,” he shot back, adjusting his glasses and giving me a pointed look over the rim.

“I’m not here to redecorate,” I said, grabbing a stray mug off the desk and sniffing it. Coffee. Probably from this morning. “I’m here because you’re the only person I trust not to stab me in the back.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I keep my knives locked up tight for those more deserving.”

“Good,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. Bitter as hell, but it’d do. “Now, tell me what you found on those docks.”

Oliver’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the glow from his screens illuminating his face. “Give me a second. I’m pulling up the shipping logs now.”

I watched him work, the hum of his computers filling the silence. Oliver had a knack for unraveling puzzles, a talent for digging into cold cases and ignored leads the cops were too lazy or unimaginative to handle. His skills had become a lifeline for me, but his friendship? That was the real treasure.

“There it is,” he said after a few minutes, leaning back and gesturing toward the monitor. “The shipment is scheduled to dock at Pier 17 in six days. It’s flagged under a fake company name—classic cartel move—but the real paperwork links it back to Gabriel Lopez.”

The name has become familiar to me over the past few days. Lopez. The puppet master behind Dragon Fire and the supply chain running through the state.

“You’re sure it’s him? And the cargo’s dirty?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Positive,” Oliver said, tapping the screen. “I found his signature on the customs forms. Sloppy, but effective. He’s got someone on the inside fast-tracking this shipment through port security. That tells me all I need to know—they’re hiding something.”

“Of course he found some dirty custom agents,” I muttered, setting the mug down harder than I intended.

Oliver leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “We need eyes on that dock, Lucy. If you want proof, this is it.”

I crossed my arms, my mind already mapping out the logistics. “Staking out the docks won’t be easy. Security’s tight, and if Lopez has cops in his pocket, staying invisible is going to be a bitch.”

Oliver smirked. “You? Not able to be invisible? Please. You’re like a ghost when you want to be.”

“Thanks. I think,” I said, pushing off the desk and pacing the room. The weight of the situation was pressing down harder with every step. “We need a vantage point. Somewhere we can see the whole operation without being spotted.”

“I’ll pull up satellite images of the area,” he said, his fingers already flying over the keyboard again.

“Good,” I said, glancing at the cluttered table by the couch. A bag of chips caught my eye, and I grabbed it, tearing it open. “You want some?”

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