Page 2 of Carrick
“Put it on speaker,” I said.
He rolled his eyes but tapped the phone.
“Change of plans,” Quinn’s voice came through, sharp and all business. “The witness is coming in tonight.”
I blinked. “I thought that wasn’t happening until tomorrow.”
“It was. But plans change. I need her out of this station now.”
“Awesome,” I muttered. “There goes my week of not giving a shit.”
“Two hours,” Quinn continued. “Maybe less. Make sure the house is ready.”
“And you said his name was Bellamy or something like that, right??” Niko asked.
“Yeah, it’s Bellamy Cross, buthe’saher.”
I paused, the weight of reality settling over me. Two fucking women in our home? Jesus fucking Christ.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked flatly.
Niko smirked. “Didn’t you say something yesterday about not having to worry about anyone screwing the witness this time?”
“That was before I knew the witness wasn’t shaped like a linebacker.”
“Try not to be a dick,” Quinn said. “She’s been through a lot. And she’s not exactly thrilled about coming.”
“Neither am I,” I muttered.
The line clicked off.
Sully was already in the hallway, leaning against the wall with a steaming mug in one hand and absolutely no expression on his face. His shoulders barely fit in the doorframe. “So our new guest is coming tonight, huh?”
“Yeah. And it’s another female,” I said.
“I’ll go preheat the oven,” he deadpanned.
Jax called up from downstairs. “Want me to do the intake paperwork or clean up Deacon’s murder cave first?”
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting out of clean up after the last hunting trip. We have a rotation for a reason. Besides,it’ll do you some good, kid,” Deacon said, appearing like a silent shadow from upstairs. “And it’s not a murder cave.”
“That actually makes it even creepier, Deacon.” Maddy added as she strolled by me, tugging on a hoodie over one of Niko’s shirts. “Hey Carrick, maybe try not walking in on her like you did to me, hmm? First impressions matter. So does privacy.”
“No promises,” I chuckled, shaking my head and heading for the guest room.
We scattered like trained soldiers playing house. It was a strange rhythm, this blend of domestic practicality and tactical organization. But we made it work.
Sully was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, snapping open the Clorox wipes like he was preparing for a battlefield triage. “If I find one more of your damn knives in the bread box, Carrick, I swear to God.”
“It’s strategic placement,” I shot back. “What if someone attacks while I’m making toast?”
“Then your priorities are fucked,” he muttered, wiping down the counters.
Jax peeked his head into the kitchen.. “Hey, Sully, when you’re done playing domestic goddess, can you check the pantry? Pretty sure that last shipment of instant oats was expired.”
“Like you’ve never eaten expired food before,” I scoffed.
“Yeah, but there’s no need to now,” Jax replied, typing away on his phone as he moved down the hall. “Also, I ran Bellamy’s name. Barely any digital footprint. Just a library bio and an old blog with exactly three posts about used bookstores and her cat.”
