Page 40 of Switch
Jumping out of my seat, I advance on Wes, flipping my knife out so he can see.He’s busy backing up when I grip his shirt, pressing the blade to his throat.“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t listening the first time we talked this morning.”
As I keep the blade against Wes’s skin, I glance around the table, hoping I haven’t made the others nervous.Luckily, I think they’re all with me.
Despite keeping these folks at a distance, I know we escorts take care of our own.When Christian got hurt, these guys showed up to help.Sure enough, Simon stands to face Wes with his arms crossed.So do Nico, Christian, and Prince (who has an intimidating-looking amount of metal in his face).
Silence stretches out until Wes sighs and puts his hands up in surrender.Once I let him go, he’s out the door fast enough to leave smoke.
At all the questioning looks, I mutter, “Client drama.I’ll take care of it.”And then, belatedly, “Thanks.”Rubbing at my chest doesn’t quite wipe away the warmth there that feels suspiciously like friendship.
As people slowly return to their previously scheduled conversations, I give Ravi a nudge with my shoulder.“You sure about this auction thing?”
Ravi nods.“Sure.Brennan said he’d vet the applicants.”
For me, that’s not a huge reassurance.I still don’t know if Brennan is trustworthy.But when I want to argue more, Ravi cuts me off.“It’s gonna be fine.I’ve made my decision.”
Since I’ve got other concerns on my mind, I let it go for now.I’m making a note to keep an eye on this, though.
I turn to the rest of the group.“Hey, does anyone here know about security stuff?Cameras and whatnot?”
“You good, PJ?”Simon asks.
There are too many eyes on me right now.I may be willing to open up more with the group, but I’m not sharing everything about Fallon with them.“Asking for a friend.”
Simon’s boyfriend, Sebastian, speaks up.“I’ve got a guy.Helped me out a bunch recently.”He fishes in his wallet and hands over a business card.
The card is solid black except for two lines of bold white lettering, plus a phone number.“‘Everett Cartier, security, etc.’Who puts ‘etc.’on a business card?You trust this guy?”
Sebastian doesn’t strike me as the sort who hires from anything less than the top tier, but for Fallon’s safety, I want to be sure.
“Yeah, he’s excellent.Brennan recommended him.”
Fucking Brennan.Why does everyone trust this guy so much when he’s a fucking criminal?
Still, I picture Fallon’s expression when he showed me those weird greeting cards, the concern he tried to keep off his face.I stick the card in my pocket.Maybe I’ll ask some of my rich-ass clients as well.Just to be on the safe side.
Like I told Wes, I’ve grown attached to Fallon.I’m going to take it personally if someone tries to hurt him.
More than that, I’ll make sure they regret it.
ChapterTwelve
PJ
Which ishow I end up sitting outside of Fallon’s house.Watching.Waiting.
I did my usual pass around the East End earlier, with the same lack of success.I won’t lie and say I’m not getting discouraged.But it’s like I told Brennan—I refuse to give up until someone finds his body.
I’m sipping coffee from the East End Gas and Guzzle that tastes like burned feet while I tap an impatient hand on the steering wheel.Nothing’s happening.Fallon said the cards only show up once a year, so maybe this is pointless.
He might be pissed if he knew I was out here.Should I tell him?Should I knock on the door and offer to guard his body up close?Since he seemed conflicted about whether to take the cards seriously, I don’t want to risk him telling me to go home.Then I’ll have to move my car to a different spot.
I perk up when the living room lights go out, and a minute later, the garage door opens.I wait for his black Honda to pass the cross street I’m parked on, and then I follow, slowly.We meander out of the fancy beachfront neighborhood where Fallon lives and into what I call the standard affluent people’s suburbs, then into downtown.It’s getting dark, and I’m hanging a few cars back, so I doubt he can see me.
Fallon pulls into a temporary parking spot in front of a bank of stores that cater to tourists and locals who have money to burn.Tropical Treads, which sells fancy sandals and things, Calliope’s, which seems to sell wine slushies and handmade art, Three Brothers’ Collectibles, and Cotton and Linen, the store where those cards came from.That’s got to be where he’s going, which means I can take a minute to find a spot in the parking garage on the next corner.
When I make it back, they appear to be closing up for the night, but Fallon’s managed to get inside and is currently charming a pretty sales associate.Not the person who treated me like I was gum on the bottom of their shoe that time I came in.In my defense, they had stuffed animals and throw pillows in the display window, so how the hell did I know it was a stationery store?As I lurk in a spot that allows me to see the back of Fallon’s head through the holes of a window display, I see the young woman laughing and touching Fallon’s shoulder.
“I don’t think so, bitch,” I mutter to nobody in particular.
