Page 86 of Redemption

“I don’t know it at all,” Ryder offered, a smidge more sarcastic than Victoria would’ve expected, yet it played perfectly with the mood at the table.

“Maybe I don’t have firsthand knowledge of Mayhem’s history, but I know what you know,” she said as their food arrived—that and she had Seven, who was like an encyclopedia of all things Mayhem, though that was never to be admitted out loud.

The waitress pretended to ignore everything, but Victoria knew that woman was as good of a source as she’d ever had, and smiling, she made sure to thank her when the surly-puss mayor didn’t. That might come in handy one day. In her business, she couldn’t have too many acquaintances.

“No one knows what Lenora knows.” As the mayor unrolled the paper napkin and smoothed it over his khaki pants, Victoria swore she saw their waitress stifle an eye roll.

Obviously. Attorney/client privilege. But Victoria would keep that to herself. Then their waitress caught her eye, and they almost laughed as they shared a knowing glance, and all was forgiven about the earlier, gossipy remarks about her being the lunchroom conversation. Bounty hunters and waitresses collected intel on the down low. There was a give-and-take to that kind of partnership. Victoria used what she knew to find people, and their waitress read a table to earn a tip.

“Sunshine, you having a bad day?” waitress asked. “Ice cream sundae on the house.”

The mayor lit up like a kid. “Why, thanks.” He turned to Ryder as she left. “That’s why this is the best place in Sweet Hills for lunch.”

Ryder wasn’t a moron, but he played to the politician’s ego as small talk flowed. Reelection, budgets, things she cared about, but in the end, not really. Victoria wanted to keep her home as Mayberry-like as possible, even if they were at the intersection of profit and smuggling, thanks to the simple logistics of America’s heartland and the highway system.

Lenora caught her eye as she pushed from the table, leaving the motorcycle men still eating. Their eyes met, and as she walked by, heading toward the ladies’ room, they didn’t drop. Victoria was mid-bite into her cheeseburger, but it didn’t matter. The attorney never slowed.

Table small talk continued when Victoria saw Lenora return to her table the short distance from the bathroom, where the polished attorney dug into chili cheese fries. Her two roughneck friends—clients?—wore motorcycle cuts and eased back in their booth, lunchtime beers in hand. Victoria was certain she’d taken down a relative of the man with the goatee.

Lenora’s walk by and stare were interesting. If nothing else, there was a conversation to be had, but not when the mayor was so bent out of shape and Ryder side-eying the shit out of everyone.

“Anyone up for an afternoon tour?” the mayor asked.

Her phone buzzed, and with it, Victoria’s pulse. She much rather go home and strip and was certain that’s what Ryder’s text would say also.

UNKNOWN: We need to talk.

Not Ryder. Victoria cut a glance to Lenora who stared her way and popped a chili cheese fry.

“I need to get back to the office.” She declined the request and avoided Ryder’s inquisitive stare. “Thanks though.”

They took time to fight over the check until the waitress said that it’d been taken care of, leaving the mayor stumped and annoyed, complaining that someone would claim it was a campaign contribution. Victoria drowned out the remaining grumps and growls of small-town drama and politics until her phone buzzed again.

RYDER: Sweet Hills is hopping with the drama.

VICTORIA: *hop* *hop*

RYDER: Be careful, whatever you’re getting into with attorney evil eyes over there.

VICTORIA: You don’t miss much, do you?

RYDER: Just trying to keep up. Let me guess. Your key is under a fake rock in the garden.

VICTORIA: A gnome.

VICTORIA: I’m questioning all life decisions now. Just so you know.

RYDER: So. Damn. Cute.

Honestly, could she fall any harder for him? The answer was no.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The overwhelming smell of roast beef and more hit Victoria when she walked in the door. “Hello?”

Ryder sauntered out of the kitchen with a kitchen towel tossed over his shoulder and mesh shorts hanging low on his hips. His green eyes sparkled then he winked. “How was work, honey?”

God, he was delicious. The house smelled delicious. Everything about her life was freaking delicious right now. “Did you make dinner?” Shock hung on her every word, almost like an accusation.

---