CHAPTER NINETEEN SCHEDULES AND FASHION-FORWARD GUNS #2
I weighed the best course of action. Everyone had been surprisingly friendly.
If I came out swinging with accusations and demands, I wouldn’t get far.
Not with that tight group. And I would lose whatever progress I’d made with infiltrating them.
Everyone would go on guard around me, making me even more of an outsider than I already was.
I would have a much harder time piecing together if there was something happening beyond an unfortunate coincidence or competitive sabotage if everyone shut up and watched their backs around me.
The smart thing to do was ignore Glitch’s reaction.
Since staying totally silent would set off as many alarm bells, I asked, “Did Mickey and his mouse brothers mess with something?”
“What’d I say about mouse talk?” Rhys muttered.
“Does it look like I’m racing to narc to the health department?”
“Yes,” he shot back instantly.
And not just him. Jury and Glitch tossed in their own affirmatives.
I shot them all a narrow-eyed scowl. “Unless you had a huge infestation or were letting the mice control your cooks and bartenders by pulling their hair, I don’t care about what’s happening in the walls.”
“Speaking of control and hair pulling, how’d your date go last night?” Jury asked.
It took me a long second to realize he wasn’t asking one of his Mayhem brethren.
He was asking Rhys.
He had a date?
He had backed out of the dinner that he’d been the one to suggest, but I hadn’t seen his car leave.
Okay, fine. I might’ve been too distracted to see it. The app on my phone would’ve alerted me, though.
Unless he’d already found the tracker and tossed it into the harbor.
That would suck. Not only were those tiny bastards expensive, discovering it right after I’d been in his car would put me at the top of his suspect list.
There was always the possibility he took his bike. I couldn’t stop myself from picturing some leggy bombshell wrapped around him as they cruised around.
Someone like Daisy.
After all, they no longer worked together. A date wouldn’t violate all those restrictions he had in place as a good boss.
That would also suck, but not for the same reason.
Actually, I was a little surprised by how bad the thought bothered me. Rhys was attractive, definitely. I would go so far as to say he was probably the hottest man I’d ever seen in real life—including the far-from-ugly men in that room.
I mean, the muscles. The tattoos. His arrogant swagger and the way he walked like it was heavy.
His amazing hair with the subtle streaks of gray.
The fashion vibe that mixed grunge with sophisticated biker.
The list went on and on. And at the top, by a landslide, were those dimples.
I would have to be an idiot to not see the appeal.
And Lieutenant Anthony Oscar hadn’t raised an idiot.
Well, not an idiot daughter. The sons were a different matter.
So, yes, Rhys was hot.
Yes, I was intrigued by the way he took charge.
Yes, that was fueled by some of the stuff Daisy had shared about what he liked—stuff I’d thought about too much.
And, yes, I liked our banter and his exasperation with me.
Which was also part of the issue with my irrational reaction. He seemed to tolerate me at best. Jury and Haze both flirted, though I was fairly certain that was as default as the former’s RBF—resting broody face. On the other hand, Rhys seemed more irritated at me than anything.
And honestly? I couldn’t fault him for being unhappy about having a shadow.
He’d never said anything particularly complimentary, either. The only thing he’d ever said about my appearance was that I dressed like an old lady.
If the usual caliber of women he hooked up with were on Daisy’s level, I couldn’t fault him there, either.
Not that I was some gargoyle. I might not be everyone’s fantasy girl, but I knew I was pretty.
Different strokes for different folks, and all that.
“Didn’t have a date,” Rhys said, and I had no clue if he meant that period or if his qualm was simply with labeling it as a date. That might’ve been too official for his regulations.
I might not have known what was happening with my stupid reaction, but I did know myself well enough not to want to hear any more details.
“Okay, no mice talk,” I said, getting us back on track. “But that still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Maybe,” Glitch answered, again keeping it cool even as he lied. “I won’t know till I dig in.”
As badly as I wanted to hear whatever had Glitch’s motorcycle in a tizzy, they weren’t going to say anything more around me.
Allowing them to talk without me put it out there in the group.
That greatly increased my chances of overhearing something at some point.
Not ideal, but a better option than forcing it until everyone clammed up.
I also found myself needing a break to squash whatever was happening in my head.
I was vaguely aware of someone’s phone beeping as I inspected the hole in the wall.
“Shit,” Judge said. I looked over to see what the problem was, only to find his eyes on me. “I forgot to tell you that O wants to meet you. She’s at the bar.”
“Why did she text you if she’s right at the bar?” I asked. My cop-brain jumped to the possibility of it being a trap in retaliation for the possibly discovered tracking device.
But the sweet smile on Judge’s face was far from malicious or conniving. “’Cause she’s comfortable, and there’s no way she’s moving except when she has to pee a million times an hour.” His grin grew. “Her words.”
Since he’d mentioned a pregnancy, that made sense.
More than that, the timing was impeccable. I could’ve kissed Judge and O for giving me the opening to step away without looking shitty at my job.
“I’ll go to her then,” I said.
If it was a bad drama, I would walk down the hall before silently backtracking to eavesdrop in the hallway.
That usually ended up with whoever getting caught or maimed.
Or, if it was a comedy, it ended with them overhearing just enough of something to misconstrue it until embarrassing hijinks occurred.
Since I didn’t want any of that—and I was very curious to meet the mysterious O—I kept going down the hall.
With enough distance between me and the people around me, I was mindful of the cameras as I slid my phone out and quickly checked the app.
Phew.
I gave no external indication, but my inner shoulders loosened like they’d had a day at the spa when I saw the tracker was right in the parking lot where it should be. I hurriedly tucked my phone into my back pocket without missing a step.
Steps that sped up when I saw what was waiting.
Not the pretty blonde.
The shimmery box.
Dare I hope against hope?