CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO FLANNEL HOUSES
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FLANNEL HOUSES
LUNA
Doing my hype dance was harder in a car.
Not impossible.
Just harder.
I cranked the music a little higher and danced away my nervous energy.
It was my first day of work at my fake job. Bartending and serving were already a lot harder than people assumed. Remembering who ordered what. What drink went on which tab. Who was next to be served. Who was ready to be cut off.
And doing that while impatient customers copped an attitude and oblivious sad sacks wanted your undivided attention like it was a therapy session.
For hours.
That was already a lot. Doing it while keeping one eye and one ear out for anything case or safety-related made it all harder. I just had to hope I didn’t blow it the first night.
Hence the nerves.
I was just starting to feel more confident as I belted out how chains and whips excited me—though they didn’t—when my song abruptly cut off and was replaced by ringing.
I glanced at my mounted phone to see it was an unknown number.
If a scammer somehow got this number to talk to me about my pending loan, we’ll need a new tech team.
I hit a button on the steering wheel to connect the call through the Bluetooth system. “Hello?”
“Check in time, Lo.”
Horror morphed my face. I bet it looked funny as hell, but I was too busy being horrified to care.
I’d been using the encrypted messaging app hidden deep in the phone to send my minimal updates to my captain.
Each time, I’d expected a return text that called off my assignment or pushed me to be more aggressive to wrap things up.
But he’d been happy—or at least seemed it—with how things were shaping up.
As go-time approached, he’d said I would be hearing from my official handler.
I’d assumed I would get a message through the system.
Instead, I was forced to hear his voice. If I were a superstitious person, I would’ve taken it as a bad omen and pulled the plug on it all.
I scowled at the use of a nickname that used to be reserved for my family. “You’re my handler?”
And here I thought Captain Talbot liked me.
“I was the only one with availability and experience, so Cap begged me,” Murdoch said. “Lucky you.”
If I wasn’t driving, I would’ve hung my head back to curse my fate.
Giving him that little bit of snark had been a mistake. Murdoch was petty. More than that, he enjoyed being petty. He looked for any slight he could use against someone.
The only way to get under his skin was to refuse to let him under mine.
I took solace in the fact he wouldn’t do anything to risk my safety or the case. He was a dick, but he was also a good detective.
In a dickish way.
“Do you have anything for me?” I asked, keeping it cordial and professional.
And I hoped quick—both because I was nearing Rye and because I preferred to talk to Murdoch as little as possible.
“Nothing,” he said. “Patrol says it’s been clear this week outside of the security company. Do you have anything?”
“Not yet,” I said.
And kinda lied.
The day before, Glitch had run me through how he’d found the wires and the possible—or probable—outcomes if he reconnected them.
I’d mulled it over during the rest of my time there, the silent car ride home with Rhys, and all night before deciding not to share about the signal jacker.
If something else was found or it became more pertinent, I would.
But as things stood, there wasn’t much to garner from it.
The full panel and wire change had fixed the streaming problem.
No other jackers, devices, or trackers had been found—including the one that was still safely under the mat in Rhys’s car.
Telling Murdoch guaranteed the tech team would be sent to dig through it all while likely undoing the new security measures MayCo worked hard to put into place.
They would also insist that turning it on was worth the risk when it wasn’t their business they were risking.
“I’m guessing tonight is when things really get going,” I added.
“You prepared?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Message me if anything comes up. I’m sending the call logs and reports you requested. Check-in will be Sunday morning. Until then, stay safe.”
And then he hung up on me.
The craziest part was it was probably the best interaction we’d ever had.
I jumped when my music kicked back on, just as loud as before.
I started the song from the beginning and rebuilt the calm the call had interrupted.
My timing was elite, and the last few beats petered out just as I turned into the employee lot.
Rather than a MayCo van and motorcycles, it was filled with normal cars like mine.
Out of place near the townhouses, but it definitely fits in here.
Flipping down the visor, I checked for anything in my teeth, raccoon smudges under my eyes from my enthusiastic singing, or my hair sticking out all over.
Everything looked fine, so I climbed out and approached the door.
Here goes… everything.
I didn’t get the chance to punch in the code before the door was suddenly open. The friendly smile on my face froze when I saw Rhys.
A glaring Rhys.
I had no clue why. I was a half hour early.
He backed up the pissy expression with a pissy tone when he asked, “What’re you wearing?”
For whatever reason, I glanced down at myself like my clothes had magically changed in the car. Unsurprisingly, they had not. I still wore a pair of fashionably loose jeans and a fitted pink tee. Totally normal.
Okay, maybe not for me. If I wasn’t in suits for work, I lived in hoodies and athleisure to recoup some of the comfort I missed out on during those long shifts.
But it’d been nice to delve back into the barely touched portion of my wardrobe.
Same with leaving my hair down and going heavier on my makeup than I usually did.
It wasn’t like I’d done a full beat with maximum glam or anything. That would be counterintuitive if I wanted to blend in. Just a little more than the no-makeup makeup look I’d perfected.
I’d seen what Harlow wore the night she was behind the bar. I’d seen what Daisy wore—after she put her clothes back on. I thought I nailed the vibe perfectly.
His words and glower said otherwise.
“Is this because I’m not in a regency gown?” I asked. “Because you already called dibs.”
He didn’t laugh. The side of his eyes didn’t even crinkle. No dimples. Nothing. Nada.
Just a stony expression as he scanned me up and down.
It could’ve been because he was stressed over how the night would go. Whether staff would show. If there would be more incidents. How the fate of his bar could be influenced by my ability to do both of my jobs.
But that didn’t give him carte blanche to insult me.
Closing the distance between us, I stopped when we were nearly toe-to-toe.
It didn’t matter that I had to crane my neck to see his face or that the top of my head barely reached his shoulders.
I looked up at him while simultaneously looking down my nose at him like I’d done with Catch.
“If you’re going to throw in your two cents about my outfits, be prepared for that to go both ways. ”
“What’s that mean?” he rumbled.
“That people in flannel houses shouldn’t throw fashion stones.”
His lip quirked up. Just a hint. “You don’t like my clothes?”
I did.
I very much so did.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” I said instead.
I was about to walk away from that mic drop moment, but I didn’t get the chance.
Stepping closer, he closed that minimal space until my breasts grazed his hard torso. He met my stare down with one of his own.
That was it.
No words.
No insults.
Nothing.
Nothing except my hardening nipples. I knew he couldn’t feel them through my bra, but that didn’t matter. I knew. I let him get to me in a way far worse than getting annoyed or angry. The tight peaks might as well have been little white flags of surrender.
I lost the war, but I would give away my prized possessions before I ever admitted the defeat out loud.
I went on the offensive instead.
Lifting my index finger, I jabbed it toward him. “This is why I didn’t share my snacks with you.”
I lifted my chin and turned, prepared to glide into the break room with that death blow, but he caught my belt loop before I could take more than a step. He didn’t have to shift me. I whipped around myself. If his finger happened to get hurt with the sudden movement, it was his own fault.
But there was no scowl or flinch.
Damn.
“I’m going to cut the loops off every pair of jeans I own,” I snapped.
Rather than engage, his expression softened as he kept his hold in place. He used his free hand to gesture down my body while following the path with his eyes. “Know I said not to dress geriatric, but now it looks like it’d be illegal for me to serve you alcohol.”
“You know I’m over twenty-one.”
“Do I, though?”
I looked around to confirm we were alone but lowered my voice to be extra cautious. “Do you see a lot of twenty-year-old detectives running around?”
“No, but if anyone could pull off that feat, it’d be you.”
Dammit.
I hated how much I liked that.
“I did achieve it younger than anyone else in my family,” I shared before immediately wanting to glue my big mouth shut.
My competitive ego is going to get me one day.
That, or a wild animal I had no business petting.
Sharing details about my real life and family, even with Rhys, was a huge mistake.
One I wouldn’t be making again.
I kept talking, not giving him the chance to ask any follow-ups. “I’m twenty-six. Not a crime-fighting prodigy.”
He didn’t relax at that. If anything, his jaw seemed to clench harder.
Whatever. I had myself to stress about. I didn’t need to shoulder his stress—which was also probably about me.
I managed to slip free of his hold to walk inside just as Harlow came into the break room.
Her smile was instantaneous. “Hey, Lo. I thought I’d walk you through a couple things before shift starts.”
“Gimme a second,” Rhys said from behind me.
I ignored him and moved to Harlow. “Let’s go.”
The only movement from the pretty redhead was her eyes darting between me and the jerk behind me.
I kept going, heading into the hall and toward the main room. I was halfway there when Harlow caught up to me.
“Uh, are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“Peachy.”
“Riiiight,” she drawled in a way that made it clear she didn’t believe me. “So that tension with Rhys is just…”
“What tension?”
“Riiiight,” she repeated with more sarcasm that time. She opened her mouth to say more, but a couple of guys who were headed toward the hallway veered our way.
Guys I’d seen during my kitchen inspection.
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
It’s all falling apart.
The fear had been in the back of my mind since Captain Talbot gave me the stupid assignment. Initially, I’d hoped to be recognized from the beginning to cut the undercover assignment short, but things had changed. I wanted to stay and dig and dig until I found the bone.
As in, solve the mystery, not the other kind of bone…