Page 121 of Ricochet

“You know things that don’t make sense, and I know how and why.”

She paused. What kind of things? Why Silvio thought Mayhem was shadier than they were? Why Colin had been shot? Why her Pops told her to run. “Like what?”

“Listen to me, Adelia,” Colin said. “You have no idea who this son of a bitch is.”

“Then who is he!” She swung Colin’s way, not lettingDeacon out of the corner of her eye.

“Whatever he’s going to tell you is a lie,” Deacon pre-empted Colin. “A self-serving lie to keep you away from Gloria Astor.”

“The last time anyone saw Deacon Lanes, he died a couple hours later,” Colin said.

“Anyone?” Deacon chuckled. “Or is Delta getting rusty?”

“Screw you, buddy.” Colin lifted his chin. “Adelia, gun down, and c ‘mere.”

Adelia didn’tlike guns. She might be handy on the trigger but that didn’t mean she wanted a show down in the Maryland suburbs.

“I’m leaving—without either of you.”

“No, you’re not,” Colin said.

“Come on, Adelia.” Deacon holstered his gun. “I’ll explain everything on the way to see your dad.”

My dad? Tex or Pops…

“If we don’t roll, the cops are going to show up,” Colin tried. “Forget him.”

But Colinthought she had it in her to sell people…

A luxury sedan rolled down the street as if Colin’s words had jinxed their luck. “Dammit, you’re going to get us arrested.” Neither hid their weapon from plain site, and she wasn’t going to be the one to start. “What, you two are un-arrest-able?”

“In a way,” Deacon laughed.

“God, you’re a dick.” But Colin didn’t lower his gun.

The fancy car pulledinto the driveway across the street, not bothering to open the garage.What luck.

Colin and Deacon growled their pointless conversation of death threats and accusations, nearly ignoring her by now as Adelia watched a woman get out of her car and casually unloaded a bag from the backseat, seemingly unaware of the two lone wolfs ready to duel thirty yards away. She narrowed her gaze as the womancrouched in her dark jeans and flat boots, boot much like hers, and fussed inside an oversized bag.

A late-model Ford Bronco with out-of-state plates turned down the street and drove by. It went several houses down and then turn into a driveway, pulling out and parking along the sidewalk facing the direction it came.

Her pulse picked up with the sweet kick of adrenaline.

The side conversationnext to her devolved into accusations about South America and fake deaths, CIA spies and general name calling, and she couldn’t figure out if this was some military op, deep-cover style of therapy, or if these two were going to shoot each other dead simultaneously.

But… she didn’t care. The air tickled with tension. The woman across the street hadn’t gone inside her house yet, and maybe Adeliawas paranoid but— no. “Colin.” A rocket-powered grenade launcher was cradled in the woman’s arms as its shopping bag cover fell away. “Colin.” Her subconscious picked a side. “Colin!”

Deacon and Colin turned, simultaneously snapping, “What!”

What was that? Choreographed? Their bitching must’ve been black ops therapy, but she wasn’t sticking around to die. Adelia ran as hard and fast as she could.

Their ‘oh fuck’s trailed as the grenade launcher watched long enough to see that Adelia was hauling ass before she let that baby blast.

The grenade whined and hit. The reverb rolled Adelia, tripping her half in the road, half draped over the curb. Her gun clattered from her hand, and she realized her duffel bag was by the house.

But the house! Flames jumped from the hole, and ears aching,she wiped at her eyes. Where was Colin? And what the hell kind of military strategy was that?

It wasn’t. She pushed up, knowing everything there was to know about Mayhem when they didn’t know what to do. Blow shit up.

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