CHAPTER 12
JAGGER
The bell over the coffee shop door rang when I stepped inside, bright and obnoxiously cheerful as always, and it immediately put me in a worse mood.
I hadn’t slept at all. I’d spent the entire night handling a situation at one of the smaller casinos off Fremont, a little operation that had decided skimming from the high-limit tables was worth the risk.
By the time I’d finished making my point and ensuring the problem wouldn’t repeat itself, dawn had been flirting with the skyline, and my patience was already threadbare.
This stop was supposed to be automatic and the bright spot of my day. I’d come here because she’d finally left his hospital room, and she was supposed to be here for a shift.
Where the fuck was she?
Her annoying coworker was behind the counter, the one who didn’t actually work because she made Eden do it all. She was already giving me simpering, eager looks like she actually thought it was a possibility I’d fuck her.
Eden was nowhere to be seen.
I hadn’t thought to look at my camera setup on the way over here on account of my zombielike mental capacity at the moment, but I approached the counter anyway to make sure she wasn’t just in the back. “Where’s Eden?” I asked, unable to force any charm or pleasantries into my voice.
The woman gaped at me like a confused fish. “Uh . . . she’s not here.”
I sighed. “Yes, I can see that. But she was supposed to be,” I said, trying not to sound too annoyed.
“How did you—” she began before shaking her head. “Um, well, she called in for an emergency this week and . . .”
“And what?” I snapped, sensing there was more to it.
She hesitated, glancing toward the back like she hoped someone else might step in and save her. “She got fired.”
I stared at her, uncomprehending.
“Excuse me?” I said, my voice edged despite the exhaustion dragging at me.
I might have been tired, but I was still certain my message to Shelby about Eden had been unmistakably clear.
Shelby owed a lot of money to us thanks to her nasty little gambling habit, and the only reason she still owned this fucking coffee bar was because she was married to Lawson’s second cousin.
“She missed a few days,” the woman said defensively, clearly thinking I was holding her responsible for the decision. “Our boss said it was too many.”
I nodded slowly, not because I accepted it, but because reacting here would have been messy, and messes were for later.
“Thanks,” I said as I turned and started for the door.
I reached up and grabbed the bell on my way out, ripping it off the wall.
The annoying employee was gasping as the door closed behind me, but I didn’t look back.
Outside, the morning sun was already climbing, and I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, my hands flexing at my sides in irritation. I pulled out my phone.
Gage answered on the second ring. “What happened?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“Why do you assume something happened?” I asked.
“Because you’re calling me when I just got to work, honey.”
Ah, Gage was with someone. While also being our fixer, Gage was also an FBI agent. It was very helpful to have someone on the inside when you were running a mafia organization.
“Well, little Snuffleupagus,” I said sweetly, “I just need a tiny favor handled tonight. I’m throwing a barbecue for the neighbors, and I need you to grab a few supplies on your way home from work.”
He didn’t respond for a minute, and I grinned despite my mood because one of Cruz’s and my favorite games was trying to get Gage to laugh at work. The FBI was far too stuffy as an organization. He needed an outlet after dealing with them all day.
There was a faint sound on the other end of the line—like someone clearing their throat a little too forcefully.
“Well, sweetheart,” Gage finally replied, his voice overly polite in a way that meant he was absolutely fighting the urge to crack a chuckle, “just text me the address, and I’ll make sure I pick that up for you.”
There was a suspicious hitch at the end of the sentence, and I pictured him physically swallowing a laugh.
“Thanks, Snookie-poo,” I said, unable to come up with anything more creative as I fired off a text with the coffee shop’s address. Gage knew exactly what barbecue meant, and Shelby would be waking up to a burned-down coffee shop very soon.
It actually was a win-win situation for the organization because I knew Shelby had an insurance policy on the place. Gage would make sure it didn’t look like arson, and then she’d be using her insurance policy to start paying off her debts.
I loved when plans came together.
Zachary had the door open before I reached the curb, and I nodded at him gratefully.
I slid into the back seat, loosening my tie as the door shut with a muted thud that sealed me off from the sidewalk noise. The leather was cool, the air inside already adjusted to my preferred temperature. I reminded myself to give Zachary another raise.
He eased back into traffic, and I pulled out my phone to search for Eden. The feed was just about to load when my phone vibrated in my hand.
“What,” I answered, already annoyed.
“I know something you don’t know,” Cruz said on the other end.
I rolled my eyes. “I saw Brad Luther’s hairy nuts last night, and I still managed to get the job done. You’re not allowed to be smug about anything right now.”
Silence.
Apparently I’d stunned another man into speechlessness, because it took Cruz a full second to recover.
“I don’t know that I want to tell you this knowing that. How have you not bleached your eyes?” he finally asked.
“Cruz,” I growled, rethinking our friendship rule that we weren’t allowed to kill each other.
“He’s out of the hospital.”
I went still. “What? How did I not know this?”
“Probably because you haven’t checked your phone in six hours on account of Luther’s nuts,” he mused.
I clenched my jaw. “When did he get out?”
“About an hour ago.” He answered my next question before I could ask it. “And she was by his side.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. I guess that explained why she’d missed her shift this morning.
I hung up on him before he could say anything else, and the second the line went dead, I brought up the security feed. Her apartment came into view, and I gritted my teeth as I stared at the sight of Ryan lounging in their bed. Upright and alert and seemingly as happy as a clam.
He had a takeout container open beside him, and he was humming to himself as he shoveled cheap Chinese into his mouth.
I fucking hated him.
I switched camera feeds to the living room, and something eased in my chest when I saw Eden sitting on the couch. Of course, that thing in my chest tightened right back up when I realized she was crying as she looked at her phone.
Zooming in until her screen came into focus, I watched as she scrolled through job listings and application forms. Just another reason why Shelby’s coffeehouse was about to meet a fiery end.
Eden wiped her face and kept up her searching.
Wasn’t it typical of her relationship that Ryan was once again comfortable and carefree while she was breaking herself apart trying to keep things afloat?
Zachary glanced at me in the rearview mirror and then very wisely looked back at the road.
I switched back to Ryan and watched him take a hit of a vape, and I thought of a thousand different ways to kill him.
I texted Cruz because I didn’t have any other outlets at the moment.
Me: I just wanted you to know that I never used to feel this murdery before I met you. This is definitely your fault.
Cruz: Wow. Blaming me for helping you with your personal growth. Rude.
Cruz: Also, I forgive you for hanging up on me.
Me: I was fine. Well-adjusted. Only mildly homicidal.
Cruz: You stabbed a plant with a letter opener our second week of knowing each other.
Me: It was a plant…
Cruz: It was a sign of violence. And obviously it was important that I gave that violence structure.
Me: I’m sitting in the car watching her apply for jobs while her husband smokes in their bed.
Cruz: Ah. So we’re back in that spiral.
Me: I hate him.
Cruz: You hate a lot of people.
Me: No. This is different. This is…creative hate.
Cruz: I think Gage said that just last night.
Me: Once again I’m going to instruct you to not compare me to someone who drinks his milk with ice.
Me: You can drink it with a corn dog and be okay.
Me: But you can’t drink it with ice.
Cruz: Okay, see, I feel like there were underlying murdery thoughts somewhere in there.
Me: …
Cruz: Lincoln Daniels asked you for another favor, didn’t he?
Me: Why would you assume that?
Cruz: Because you just did that stupid … thing that he and his friends are all about.
Me: You sound jealous. But I can’t tell if it’s because Golden Boy texted me or because I texted him back.
Cruz: …
Cruz: Jagger.
Me: What?
Cruz: When are you going to kill the guy? It would be nice if you could help with this Irish thing instead of hyperfixating and then spiraling on a daily basis.
Me: I am helping. Case in point: Luther’s balls last night.
Cruz: I’m actually going to check that your story really happened because I find it far more likely you were sitting on your couch crocheting.
Me: …
Cruz: Okay, I’ll admit I am jealous that you were talking to Lincoln Daniels.
Me: I knew that already, but we’re going to have to circle back to that because I’m more interested in why you would ever assume I would be crocheting at any point.
There was a pause, and I waited incredulously for his answer.
Cruz: Isn’t that what people in love do?
I blinked at my screen for a minute, waiting for the punch line.
Weirdly, it never came.
Me: You know what . . .you might have to verify my ball story, but I’m going to have to verify that you’ve actually ever been with a woman. But I would recommend not crocheting if it ever happens.
Cruz: You know what? You’re obnoxious. Just for that, I’m going to drink the rest of that scotch.
I sighed. Of course he was at my place. Because why wouldn’t he be, even though he had a very nice one of his own?
Me: Please be gone by the time I get home. I need to sleep before I murder someone.
Cruz: …
Cruz: No promises.
I locked the phone and leaned back in the seat, knowing I was about to fall asleep.
“It’s definitely his fault,” I murmured to Zachary.
I had fallen asleep before he even answered.
***
Eden
The numbers on my phone stopped making sense somewhere around the third time I added them up.
Rent. Utilities. The hospital bill estimate they’d already emailed me.
Groceries, if we barely ate. Everything stacked on top of everything else until it all blurred together into one long, suffocating list. I rubbed my thumb over the edge of the screen and set the phone down on the coffee table, pressing my palms to my eyes like that might keep the panic from spilling out.
Behind me, the bedroom door creaked open, and Ryan stepped into the living room, his hair damp from the shower. He looked like a different man from the one in the hospital.
And he’d looked that way for the last two weeks since we’d left it.
Which was why I hadn’t been able to tell him yet . . . that I was done.
Ryan leaned down and kissed me, and I accidentally kissed him back out of habit. His kiss had just tried to turn deeper when the fire alarm suddenly screamed, ripping through the apartment with no warning.
I gasped and pulled back at the same moment Ryan did, both of us covering our ears as the shrill noise echoed off the walls.
“What the hell,” he shouted.
The sprinklers exploded to life overhead, and cold water poured down in chaotic bursts, soaking the couch, the rug, my hair, my clothes. I shrieked and jumped back, slipping slightly on the slick floor as Ryan cursed and spun in a slow, panicked circle.
“What is happening?” he yelled.
The alarm screeched relentlessly, my nerves fraying with every second. And then, just as abruptly as it had started, it all stopped. The sprinklers cut off mid-spray, and the alarm died with a final, unhappy chirp.
I blinked at the sudden silence and then looked around, stunned.
“What the fuck,” Ryan said, breathing hard.
My phone buzzed on the table, its screen lighting up with a notification from the building management about a “false alarm” and “system reset.”
Ryan laughed weakly, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “Guess the universe has a sense of humor.”
I didn’t laugh . . . because what had just happened felt like more than a coincidence. Almost the second he kissed me, the sprinklers had exploded to life overhead.
Water still dripped from the ceiling, soaking the furniture, streaking the walls, and turning everything into a soggy, wretched mess. Arms wrapped tight around my middle, I stared at the damage, unable to shake the feeling that it meant something.
It felt like a sign.
Now all that remained was finding the right moment to follow it.