Page 102 of Mess With Me

Ford doesn’t say anything, which I know means we’re both thinking the same thing. The only way Creelman’s going to back off is if he finds another obsession, which means another woman in danger.

“Listen, I don’t feel good about it either,” I say.

“But we can’t save the whole fucking world, can we?” Ford says. It’s not the first time we’ve had this discussion. It’s depressing as fuck when we do.

He grabs another flat document box and folds it into shape. “Well, hopefully a tap on Macklin will prove more useful than Creelman. Except for a couple of key moments, he’s never given us much info anyway.”

“Guy keeps his cards close to his chest.”

Ford smirks. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

I glower at him as I dump a load of files into the box in front of me. He’s right, though. Creelman and I have some things in common. We don’t talk when we don’t need to, we’re loyal to our organizations to a fucking fault, and we both have eyes only for Sasha Macklin. There’s one big difference, though: Creelman’s a fucking psychopath.

And he’s never laying another finger on Sasha. I’ll die making sure of that.

When we’re finished, Ford calls transport to come get all our materials, and we walk out onto the street together.

“You heading to Houston soon?” I ask as I get on my bike.

“Job doesn’t start for a bit.”

“So what? Bahamas?”

Ford gives me the side-eye. Then he says, “Nah. Maybe head out into the woods for a bit. Catch some bass.”

“I keep telling you we’ve got the best fishing on the Quince.”

“I’m not staying at your love nest.”

“No need. I’ve got a neighbor you might like with an extra room. Could be you in the future.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. A confirmed bachelor.”

Ford would either kick my ass if he sees I’ve compared him to Chester or be honored I’ve called him a future mountain man.

“I’m good,” Ford says. “There’s a fishing lodge up in Greenville I’ve got my eye on.”

A light rain starts to prick at us. It’s September next week, and already, it feels like fall. The sense of time passing only makes me want to get back to Sasha as fast as I can. I don’t know how long I have with her, and I want to soak up every second.

I unsnap my helmet, ready to pull it on.

“You heading back now?” Ford asks.

I shake my head. “Got an errand to run first.”

Ford nods grimly. He knows what it is. “I’ll get eyes on Macklin tomorrow.”

I don’t miss the concern in his expression as he looks out into the street. But there’s no arguing with him on this point anymore.

“I appreciate it,” I tell him as I pull on my helmet. “Oh, and Ford?” I ask, flipping my visor up. “Will you check out Sasha’s apartment? I’d do it myself, but—”

“You don’t need to explain. I’ll take care of it.”

Ford knows I don’t need to be connected to Sasha in any way.

It looks almost like he’s going to say something important, then decides against it. Instead, he says, “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

---