Page 67 of Cold as Stone
Neither does the second one, or the third. By the time I give up and crawl into bed, I’m still hard enough to cut glass and wound tight enough to snap. The taste of Kya is still on my tongue, the sound of her coming apart under my mouth still echoing in my ears.
Nine more days of this is going to kill me. But fuck she isn’t worth it.
I wake up to sunlight streaming through Kya’s bedroom windows and the sound of her phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand. She stirs beside me, warm and soft under the blankets.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, reaching blindly for the phone. “Hello?”
I can hear Mercy’s voice, tinny and urgent through the speaker. “Kya, you need to get to the bar. Now.”
That gets her attention. She sits up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and I have to force myself to focus on the conversation instead of the way the morning light plays across her skin.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, instantly alert.
“Health inspectors. They showed up an hour ago with a warrant. County officials, the works. They’re tearing the place apart.”
Fuck.
I jerk up, already rolling out of bed.
“What?” Kya throws back the covers, reaching down to the floor with one hand to look for clothes. “How is that even legal? We don’t open until?—”
“They got a complaint. Multiple complaints, actually. Anonymous tips about serious health violations.”
I tug on my jeans. “Summit,” I mutter, and Kya nods grimly.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” she tells Mercy, hanging up.
“Make that seven,” I say, already pulling my shirt on. “You’re riding with me.”
We make it to Devil’s in five, my bike eating up the distance while Kya holds tight behind me. I can feel the tension in her body as we pull into the lot and see the official vehicles parked outside—a county health department van, two cop cars, and a black sedan that screams government bureaucrat.
Inside, it’s chaos. A stern-faced woman in a county jacket is going through the kitchen with a fine-tooth comb while a uniformed officer stands nearby looking bored. Another inspector is examining the bar itself, taking photos and making notes on a tablet.
Mercy spots us first, relief flooding her face as we enter. “Thank God you’re here,” she says, hurrying over. “They’ve been at this for over an hour. They only just let me call you.”
Kya moves behind the bar, her professional mask sliding into place as she surveys the damage. I stay close, positioning myself where I can see both her and the inspectors.
“Mr. Armstrong,” a voice calls out, and I turn to see a man in an expensive suit approaching. He’s older, silver-haired, with the kind of predatory smile that makes my skin crawl. “David Crane, Summit Development.”
“And you’re here why exactly?” I reply, stepping closer to the bar and Kya.
“Summit is the government’s official contractor for health inspections in this county. I’m just here to oversee the investigation.”
I grit my teeth. “And you just so happen to choose Devil’s to examine?”
The bastard chuckles. “No, I’m afraid this isn’t a routine check. We received several complaints about food safety violations at this establishment. The county takes these things very seriously.”
Complaints, my ass. This is intimidation, pure and simple.
“Find anything interesting?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Kya runs a tight ship—there’s nothing for them to find.
“A few minor infractions,” Crane says smoothly. “Improper food storage temperatures, some documentation issues. Nothing that can’t be corrected with the proper guidance.”
“Guidance from Summit Development?” Kya asks, her voice deceptively calm.
“From the appropriate regulatory agencies, of course. Though Summit would be happy to assist with any renovations or upgrades needed to bring the establishment into compliance.”
“For a fee, I’m sure.”
