Page 12 of Hart of Redemption
“What happened?” I asked.
“Duke Hart,” a baritone voice I didn’t recognize said. “I’m Detective Branski. I need you to come in for questioning.”
I rubbed my temples, laughing. The Advil I’d taken earlier was wearing off. “For what?”
“We found two dead bodies last night near a shipping container yard,” Branski said. “Where were you around midnight?”
“Screwing a beautiful woman.” Not at that time. More like three a.m.
“She can vouch for you, then?” he asked.
“Why would you think I was there?” I asked. Pitt had just told me he’d turned off the security cameras.
“I understand from Detective Hughes that you might know the deceased. They’ve been identified as belonging to the Colombian cartel. Rosario Mendoza’s men, in fact.”
I belted out a hefty laugh. “You can tell Ted—or, rather, Detective Hughes—that he shouldn’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and run his gang unit for the BPD and not anything else.”
Ted Hughes was my sister-in-law Maggie’s foster dad. He’d been nosing around me for years but could never touch me. In fact, he’d been Denim’s arresting officer. It sure was a small fucking world, though.
“Don’t leave town, Mr. Hart,” Detective Branski said. “I might return with more questions.”
Like I gave a fuck. He had nothing on me.
Climbing out, I said, “You do that. But the next time you show up, you better have a warrant.” I growled as I hung up. That peaceful moment I’d been enjoying vanished in the blink of an eye.
Even more so when I spotted a woman running toward me, tits bouncing, nice ones, too, and fury stamped on her face.
She breezed past me and examined both vehicles, fists clenched, then whirled on me and froze as if she’d seen a ghost.
All I saw was an extremely beautiful creature with big hazel eyes, high cheekbones, warm caramel-colored hair that was blowing in the wind, big tits, and a curvy waist.
I lifted my hands. “I promise I don’t bite, and I’m sorry about this.”
As if my apology was the key to snapping her out of her zombie mode, she said, “What are you, drunk? I can smell whiskey on you.” Her voice was silky and smooth, causing my groin to react.
What the fuck? No. No. No. I’m here for Savannah.My mind was on board, but my dick was having a good old time. I brought up mental images of blood and guts, which was helping.
“Not drunk. I might’ve had a few swigs of liquor.” I was sure several glasses of bourbon the night before were filtering through my pores as well. “I didn’t see your truck until it was too late. Why are you parked haphazardly on the bend of a curve? That’s idiotic.”
She pursed her lips. “Are you calling me an idiot?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Lady, I don’t have time for this. I’ll pay you for the damage.” Upon closer inspection, I had a busted headlight, and she barely had a scratch on her Ford.
“We need to file an accident report for my insurance. I’m calling the cops.”
Chills careened down my spine at her threat. The last thing I needed was more lawmen on my ass.
“I’m a businessman. We can work this out.”
She puffed out her chest. Her low-cut green sweater was showing very nice cleavage.
Stop lusting over her. You’re at Savannah’s grave.
She stuck her hands on her hips. “Okay. The price is fifteen hundred because that’s how much it’s going to cost me to repair that dent.”
I studied her as she locked gazes with me.
She had a small nose, a smattering of freckles, full lips, and a scar on the corner of her forehead the size of a thumbtack.
