Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,46

either, and August just barely managed not to whine.

“Look,” Ricardo said, “do you mind? We’ll finish real fast, we just—”

“Do I mind?” the cop—detective, from the look of the badge dangling on a chain over his shirt and tie—practically screamed. “Do I mind that I’ve got two assholes who aren’t supposed to be here fucking in a goddamn closet? What do you think? I—you—”

“I told you they’d catch on, babe,” August said, playing up his role. “This isn’t like the time we did it in church. There are way more people here…although if the priest heard, he definitely didn’t seem to mind, but…”

“You two—you—” The cop’s florid face was getting brighter and brighter. “I can arrest you for this!”

August frowned. “For stepping into a closet for some nookie? Really?”

Ricardo held up one hand in a placating manner, the other one firmly grabbing August’s. “Look, it’s fine, we’ll go for now.”

“You’ll go down to the station, is where you’re going!”

“Really?” Ricardo stopped a foot away from the detective’s face. “You’re going to arrest two men sent here to do a job who were let on to the property without any questions by your own people? Because I work for the owner’s insurance company, and let me assure you, on top of my client being less than thrilled that his house is nearly collapsing, he and my bosses are not going to be happy to hear how cavalierly the police are treating his belongings.”

August had never seen a person turn this particular shade of puce without a garrote around their necks.

“Get out of here,” the cop ground out eventually, and then they were down the stairs and out the living room and somehow back into Ricardo’s car in what felt like less than a minute, and August couldn’t remember the last time he’d been left so deliciously frustrated, turned on, and amused all at once.

“Nicely done,” he said as he sat back in his seat.

“Hopefully not wasted,” Ricardo replied, and August would have been disappointed at the even tone of his voice if he couldn’t see how tented his pants were. “Or was it? Do you have to babysit your computer to get anything out of it?”

“Not at all. The results will be sent to an account I can safely access from your place. I bet that by the time we’re back to the safehouse, I’ll have a name to go with the face.”

“Good.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” August grinned. “Want to do it again? Because I absolutely would.”

Ricardo frowned as he pulled out onto the street. “I don’t get involved with people.”

August waited for him to finish the sentence. He didn’t get involved with people he worked with, with people he personally loathed, with people who acted like overgrown children…but no, that was it.

Huh. August considered pushing him on it, just for fun, but all of a sudden pushing Ricardo didn’t feel like it would be fun. Either the guy was just that sad, or he was just really not into August.

Either way, August didn’t want to know.

Chapter 11

Ricardo had told August he did not want to do that again and he did not get involved with people.

That second part was absolutely true. Involvement meant complicated, and Ricardo didn’t do complicated anymore. The tenuous friendship he’d developed with the cat that wandered up to his back porch from time to time was as close as he got to anyone.

But as he drove away from August’s crime scene of a house, he hated how much he wanted to do that again.

It had been a split-second decision to throw the cops off the scent of anything nefarious. A couple of guys making out in a walk-in closet were annoying, but not suspicious, and just as he’d hoped, they’d been summarily booted out of the house and warned not to come back unless they wanted to screw in a jail cell. Actually, it was probably just as well the detective hadn’t phrased it like that, or August’s mouth would have gotten them into more trouble.

As if his mouth doesn’t have me in enough trouble right now.

Ricardo fought back a shiver as he pulled onto the interstate. He didn’t dare look at his passenger, and he hated how much he wanted to. It didn’t matter how pretty August was, or how it turned out he was pretty damned smart, or how he wore that Henley as well as he’d worn Ricardo’s FC Barcelona jersey. He was August Morrison, and Augustus Mason. A liability. A serious pain