Page 30 of Things We Hide from the Light
Nolan shrugged. “It’s dark. Guy had on a hoodie and gloves. You can barely make out a profile. But a half-decent attorney could argue it was literally anyone else.”
“Still. Why send you in to babysit? Hugo’s small-time, isn’t he?”
Nolan raised an eyebrow.
“Ohhh. The feds are after Daddy.”
Anthony Hugo was a crime lord whose territory included Washington, DC, and Baltimore. While his son dabbled in stolen electronics and cars, Daddy Dearest had an ugly reputation for racketeering, drugs, and sex trafficking.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he said, jingling the change in his pocket. “Now, spill it. What pretty little treasure are you after?”
My smile was feline. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Nolan put his hand on the wall behind me and leaned in like a high school quarterback with the perky head cheerleader. “Come on, Lina. Maybe we could work together?”
But I was no perky cheerleader. I also wasn’t a team player. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m on vacation. And just like work, I do that alone too.” It was safer that way.
He shook his head. “The good ones are always stubbornly single.”
I cocked my head to study him. In his government-issue black suit and tie, he looked like the top Bible salesperson in the district. “Didn’t you get married?” I asked.
He held up his bare left hand. “Didn’t take.”
Beneath the bravado, I caught a whiff of sad.
“The job?” I guessed.
He shrugged. “What can I say? Not everyone can deal.”
I got it. The travel. The long weeks of obsession. The rush of victory when a case came together. Not everyone on the outside could handle it.
I wrinkled my nose in sympathy. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah. Me too. You could make me feel better. Dinner? Drinks? Heard this place called Honky Tonk a few blocks over has decent scotch. We could go have a few for old time’s sake.”
I could only imagine Knox’s reaction if I wandered into his bar with a U.S. marshal in tow. While his brother was a fan of law and order, Knox had a rebellious streak when it came to rule books.
“Hmm.” I needed to take a beat. I needed a plan, a strategy.
The opening of the station door saved me from having to formulate an answer. Then it was the scowl on Nash’s face that left me too tongue-tied to spit one out.
“You lost, Marshal?” Nash asked. His voice was deceptively mild with a bit more southern honey layered on top than usual. He was dressed in his uniform of dark-gray Knockemout PD button-down and tactical pants, both of which looked like they’d been washed and ironed. Both of whichalsolooked fifty million times hotter than Nolan’s suit.
Damn you, thin shower walls. Damn you to hell.
My throat was dry and my brain went stupid, putting Nash’s low groan from the night before on repeat in my head.
If broody, wounded Nash was sexy, bossy-pants Chief Morgan was a panty melter.
His gaze flicked to me, then ran from head to toe.
Nolan kept his hand where it was above my head, but he shifted so he could look at Nash. “Just catching up with an old friend, Chief. Have you had the pleasure of meeting Investigator Solavita?”
I now owed Nolan a knee to the balls.
“Investigator?” Nash repeated.
“Insurance investigator,” I said quickly before shooting a glare at Nolan. “Chief Morgan and I know each other.”
