Page 8 of Baby One Last Time
Well, damn indeed.
“Let’s go.” Derek headed for his truck. “You’re riding to headquarters with me. We’ll stop at your apartment for your things.”
“No.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “X’s orders. Probably a test. For both of us.”
He wasn’t wrong about that.
“Fine.” I huffed and followed him. When we reached his truck, I stopped. “One more thing before we leave.”
I pulled his tranq gun off the back seat and loaded a few blanks in it.
He reached for the gun. “What the hell?”
“Trust me.” I turned around and took careful aim, hitting first one flamingo, then the other, right in the pink patches on their necks. I watched with immense satisfaction as they slowly deflated and collapsed to the ground.
From their spot several yards away, TJ and X looked at me, her with what was probably disapproval, him with a nod of appreciation.
“Now we can go,” I said.
“That was a good shot.” Derek climbed into the driver’s seat as I entered the truck from the passenger side. “But you can’t shoot something every time you want to jump my bones.”
I stared out the window and assumed an annoyed air, but he wasn’t wrong about that, either. If I took out a lawn ornament every time I thought about Derek Wilder naked, within a few days, there wouldn’t be a single one left in the greater Los Angeles area.
Part 2
The Xibalba Job
Chapter 3
Derek didn’t saymuch as he followed my directions to the apartment building I’d called home for the past two months, but his expression spoke for him. The grim line of his mouth hardened with every passing block.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered, weirdly annoyed by his silent judgement. Yeah, I was living in a rundown neighborhood in a dangerous part of town. It’s not like it was my first choice. Had he missed the memo about X firing me and freezing my assets?
“Here,” I said as we approached a small patch of torn-up grass that served as the building’s parking lot.
He’d barely parked before I hopped out of my side of the truck, gasping for a lungful of fresh air. None was to be had, so I settled for LA grit and smog, but I felt better already, being able to put distance between my ex-everything and me. The truck locks and alarms clicked and chirped as he set on high alert every safety device known to the auto industry, then followed me into the dark, narrow lobby.
The skinny college kid who was a doorman, kind of, was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the counter. He grunted a hello. Or maybe it was a snore. I said “Hey, Tom,” anyway, and trotted up the dark, twisting staircase to the sixth floor.
Derek hadn’t said a word in the past fifteen minutes, which was unsettling. Inside my apartment, I jacked up my window air-conditioner to full blast and stood in front of it to blow off the sweat of the southern Cali winter, my back turned to my sullen companion. His silence took on shape and heft, and it was harder to breathe in my dingy, threadbare, studio apartment than it had been is his fancy pickup truck.
I whirled around to face him. “Just say it.”
“Say what?” He sank down onto the worn sofa that had probably been light green at some point in its life. The broken springs creaked under the weight of his well-muscled body.
It didn’t take much to make me think about his body, which was why it was important I pick a fight with him. Dredge up the bad blood between us. Drive a stake in the heart of all the emotions that had stirred to life a few hours ago in that hotel room. Actually, a few hours before that, the second I’d spotted him across the street from the old-lady mobster’s estate.
“Say that I live in a dive. That my screw-ups have finally bitten me in the ass, left me damn-near destitute. That I deserve every shitty thing that’s happened since...” Since we’d been split apart. But I’d be damned if I’d say that.
He shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not thinking any of that. No one is thinking any of that.” He covered his face with his hands. “If you must know, I was thinking this was a mistake and I have to fix it.”
“A mistake.” I stepped away from the air conditioner and slumped against the wall. My will to fight was fading fast and being replaced by self-pity. Well, hello old friend. “Bringing me back into HEAT or grinding up on me in that hotel room? Or both?”
He turned his upper body so he was fully focused on me. “This.” He lifted his hands to indicate my humble abode. “You shouldn’t be living here. How much is your monthly living expenses package?”
“My what?”
