Page 46 of Fire Fight
“Why are you being like this?”
“Why areyou? You said it yourself, Lane. She’s the only surviving victim. And she’s a private investigator. Seems to me you could benefit from working together.”
“I don’t work with civilians,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Maybe you should start. Have you even bothered to look into her?”
“No…” he said, scuffing the toe of his boot through the gravel to avoid looking at me.
“Do that,” I told him, turning away to head back into the house. “Then come talk to me.”
Before I got too far, his hand clamped onto my shoulder, halting my progress and spinning me back around. “I’m warning you, Crew. You fuck up this investigation, you interfere in any way, and I won’t hesitate to lock your ass up. Understood?”
I nodded. “Whatever you say, Boss Man. Keep me updated on the investigation.”
“That’s not how this works, little bro.”
“Of course it is. Whatever happens to her is my business now.”
“Only because you made it your business, you dumb fuck.”
I grinned but it was all teeth. “You love me.”
Lane sighed sharply through his nose and wrapped his arm around my neck, giving me a noogie before I pinched his side and he released me with a yelp.
“Get back inside you little shit. Keep an eye on that girl.”
Trust me, I thought.My eyes aren’t going anywhere else.
With a mock salute, I pushed back inside, crawled into bed, and promptly passed out.
When I wokeseveral hours later, after the kind of deep sleep that momentarily disoriented me, the first thing I noticed was something smelled good.
Reallygood.
But…why?
And then I remembered: Aspen.
Aspen McKay was in my home,living here now, and apparently, whipping up something delicious in my kitchen.
I took the fastest shower of my life and slipped into some sweats before I went out to greet her.
Aspen wore nothing but a long, oversized tee, her shapely legs and the bottom curve of her ass on display when she reached overhead to dig in my cupboards. Her burn marks peeked out from beneath her black cotton panties, the edges raised, shiny, and bright pink.
In my line of work, avoiding burns was impossible, and I’d sustained a major injury back in Chicago about ten years ago. The scar that would never go away stretched nearly six inches along my left forearm was the reason I got my first tattoo—ultimately leading to the full sleeve.
On silent feet, I approached the island and leaned against it. She hadn’t heard me come in, and I was content to watch her for a moment. Her hair was shorter than it’d been—likely thanks to the fire—brushing the tops of her shoulders instead of trailing down her back like it had before. Somehow, I enjoyed this version of her more. While visions of wrapping the length of it around my fist as I pounded her from behind were no longer viable, I was adaptable. She looked like a sexy little pixie I wanted to put in my pocket and keep safe forever.
I loudly cleared my throat.
She whirled on me, tugging the hem of the shirt down to make sure it covered her panties.
I was happy to report it failed—miserably.
“Oh my god,” she breathed, face blushing deeply. “I’m sosorry. I was looking for coffee. I thought you were still sleeping. I’ll just—” She moved around the counter and disappeared down the hall, her door slamming shut behind her a moment later.
Whatever she’d been cooking still bubbled on the stove, so I lifted the lid on the pot to find some sort of soup with tomatoes, hamburger, and rice bobbing on the surface.
