Page 45 of With A Little Luck
He must feel confident that he’s popped the last lock because he hits his feet and tries the handle.
The door pushes open.
My head falls back as it shakes, and I silently curse the universe. Of course she couldn’t have had some super lock that Trigg couldn’t successfully pick. My luck isn’t solid enough for that.
I know one thing for sure—I’m not going to prison for Easton’s half brother.
Furthermore, this asshole is supposed to be here to keep me alive…not to kidnap some poor, unsuspecting woman.
Trigg pushes the door open and strides inside, and I legitimately do not know what to do with myself.
I’m no stranger to illegal activities—I kill people professionally—but I’m not sure how I feel about this.
If it wouldn’t make me look like a snitch, I’d call Easton and rat Trigg out. But in my line of work, loose lips get you murdered in your sleep.
“This is gonna go well.” I snort. “I can feel it…” I curse under my breath and follow the psycho inside the house.
My nose twitches.
Am I hallucinating?
No.
No fucking way.
That coconut and creamy vanilla scent is distinct. It’s haunted my dreams for months.
There’s no possible way…
“Angel? I hate to drop by unannounced, but it’s an emergency,” Trigg says, taking a left and disappearing into whatever room that leads to. “Quincy?”
My jaw hits the floor like I’m a cartoon character.
Chapter Fifteen
Ridge
I’m sure I look like a drunk, stumbling into the wall outside the room Trigg entered. I lean against the doorway, taking stock of the living room.
Trigg only made it a few more steps into the room than I did. He’s turned sideways just enough for me to spot his scowl. His eyes narrow, and he glares with the same look on his face that Easton gets when someone is about to suffer.
This has to be a hallucination.
Wishful thinking after wanting to find Quincy for so long?
I asked Calder to look into locating her when I found out about Trigg’s existence, but a first name and a city wasn’t much to go on. He told me it would take some time—possibly weeks—unless he got lucky and caught her on a security camera the night we hooked up. But he also warned me that a lot of local systems scrub their old feeds to make room for new recordings. Finding a place that has footage from that long ago isn’t likely unless it’s one of the government cameras.
The long dark hair of the woman on the couch is familiar and so is that scent.
The man with his hand planted on the arm of the sofa as he cages her in is no one I recognize.
At least, not at first.
He growls and pops up, moving to kneel on the end of the sofa by the woman’s feet, and that’s when I catch sight of his face. “What the fuck?”
“Trigg?” Quincy asks, and her voice is so familiar that my knees wobble.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you need to leave,” Hartley says. “I told you there was something wrong with that guy.” The last part he says to Quincy, like Trigg can’t hear every word of what he just said.
