Page 164 of House of Cards

12:00

She shoves me away with a panicked, “Fuck!”

I sit back in a rush, hard enough to click my teeth together. My mouth pulses angrily, my lips feeling bruised and hot. Zoey throws me a quick, confused look, and then scrambles out of the car.

Grabbing my Glock from the glove box, I shove it in the small of my back as I hurry after her. I catch up with Zoey as she reaches the sidewalk by the diner. When I grab her elbow, she shakes me off. I take hold of her again, and this time she shoots me a glare.

“I said I got this!” she hisses.

“You realize he won’t accept casino chips?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Then I’ll write him a fucking check.”

I want to be angry at her for not thinking this through. For not telling me what was going on. For not trusting me.

But I can’t blame her.

She knows it. I know it.

My mind is still hazy from that fucking kiss. I’m having to physically restrain myself from throwing her over my shoulder and going back to the car. Driving her to the nearest acceptable hotel. Fucking her brains out.

She’d probably fight me.

And Christ, that just makes me want it more.

But Ricky is important to her, else she wouldn’t be doing this. Any of it. She can argue as much as she wants, but she knows no floor manager will sit idly by and let her count cards at one of their tables without serious repercussions.

Zoey hesitates for a second before ducking under a strip of police tape, into the diner. Her sneakers crunch over grit and soot, my oxfords following close behind.

I can sense the place is empty. Either we missed the drop, or the loan shark is running late. In my experience, they hardly ever miss an opportunity to collect monies owed.

“Should be here by now,” I say, flicking back my cuff to check the time on my Nautilus.

“Or they’ve already left.”

“Doubt it.” I follow behind Zoey as she picks her way through the wreckage, her head turning this way and that as she scans the interior. I spot melted lumps that could have been vinyls seats. A strip of raised furniture that might have been the counter. An interior wall has caved in, showing the gutted remains of a kitchen. Another, the restrooms.

This fire burned hot, and fast. The likelihood that it’snotarson is pretty slim.

Especially not with that tag on the wall outside.

“You have any more info about this loan shark? A name, a description?”

“He didn’t give me a business card, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m—“ I cut off as Zoey suddenly bolts away.

For a hair-raising second, I think she’s making a run for it. And I’m already tensing for the pursuit, shoulders hunching, thighs bunching…but she stops abruptly in front of the remains of a barely recognizable jukebox.

She reaches inside and rips out a thick envelope. It’s bulging near the bottom, like there’s more than just a note inside.

I stop at her side as she opens it.

“Zoey, wait!”

I bark out the words without thinking.

I recognize that envelope. The bulge in the bottom. I already know what’s going to spill out the moment Zoey tips it over.

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