Page 91 of Golden Touch
Although I think I hear the sound of a keyboard in use.
Push him.
“Okay. Yes, or no? Either way I’m leaving town tomorrow. If I can’t have my passport, we’ll drive through Pennsylvania instead.”
Good job!
“All right,” Razor grumbles. “Dairy Queen, tomorrow at ten a.m.”
“Fine,” I snap. “And don’t you dare forget my passport.”
Then I hang up before he can argue with me about any of it.
Nash grabs me in his arms and kisses me. “Great job, lady. He went for it.” Then he leans down and unmutes Benito. “You got him to bite the hook. If you let him run away with the bait, I’m going to haunt your dreams.”
On screen, Benito raises both hands in submission. “We’re going to have so much coverage. You guys get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow starts early. And Livia—great job getting him talking. His arrest warrant is getting longer by the minute.”
“Oh goody.”
I just hope I live through tomorrow.
CHAPTER 40
LIVIA
My alarm wakes me up at six. And when it goes off, I find myself tangled up with Nash’s naked body. He lets out a groan when I wiggle around to find the phone and shut it off.
“What time is it?” he mumbles.
“Time to catch some bad guys.”
His eyes fly open. “You can still change your mind.”
I put a hand on his muscular chest and feel the steady rhythm of his heart. “You honestly have no idea how much I appreciate you. But let me just get this over with.”
He kicks away the tangled covers. “Then I’m coming, too.”
“Nash! Benito isn’t going to let you ride along.”
“Pussycat.” He sits up. “I know they won’t put me in the surveillance van. But if you’re going to Rutland to catch a crook, then I’m going to be nearby. That’s just a fact.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “That gives me the warm flutters.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.” I head for the shower. If today isn’t a disaster, there’ll be time for plenty of flutters later.
I put up a good front all morning. But by the time ten o’clock rolls around, my tough-girl veneer is starting to wear thin. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my ancient Subaru in the parking lot of the Dairy Queen. There’s a recording device in my bra.
But I feel very alone, even though Benito swears the area is surrounded by undercover cops, and even though Benito is speaking to me through my phone, which is sitting on the seat beside me.
“Remember—give us as many clues to what’s going on as you can. But for now, don’t speak to me unless something is wrong,” he says. “They probably have eyes on this lot.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say without moving my mouth. He’s told me all this twice before. And last night, the police observed a guy slinking around the DQ lot, possibly planting a camera. Our meetup has turned into a game of cat and mouse.
The minutes tick by, and I’m practically coming out of my skin.
“Eastbound biker on Route 4, headed your way,” Benito says, and it’s hard not to notice the excitement in his voice. “This could be our guy. We can’t see the tag. It’s obscured. Bike is a Harley. Black. ETA is about four minutes.”
