Dirty Deals by Nicole James Page 0,29
a deal. I’ll get Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. You get Tuesday and Thursday.”
I smile. “Deal.”
“You got the program down?” He nods to the computer.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. Let me know if you have any issues.”
He puts his knuckles to the desk, leans forward, and gives me a kiss. It makes me want more, and I have to refrain from taking his face in my hands and pulling him closer.
He pulls back, breaking our contact, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “Have lunch with me later?”
“Sure.”
He straightens and walks out.
I slump back in my chair. Good God the way he makes me feel.
***
Three hours later, Rusty walks in and sits on the corner of the desk. I’m on a call with a customer whose bike is ready, giving him the total amount of his invoice.
Rusty’s leg swings back and forth as he waits for me to hang up. He picks a pencil off the desk and taps me on the nose with the eraser end. I smile and bat his hand away. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Evans. We open at nine.”
I hang up just as Rusty’s attention is drawn to something through the waiting room window, and he stands. I twist to look and see two uniformed officers approaching the counter.
“Wonder what they want?” he asks.
The blood drains from my body, and my skin goes pebbly with goosebumps. “Oh, God,” I whisper.
Rusty’s head jerks around, and his eyes sweep over me.
My heart pounds, and I’m mentally judging the distance to the garage door.
“You okay, Hot Rod?”
My eyes are locked on the two men, but his voice draws my gaze. “What?”
“I asked if you’re okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His head swivels back to the men, then me. “You in trouble?”
“I… Why are they here?”
He lifts his chin, his eyes studying me. “Wait here. I’ll find out.” As if reading my mind, his gaze moves to the back door, and he points a finger at me. “Do not go anywhere, you hear me, Ashlynn?”
I nod, his words cutting through the choking fog that’s swirling around my mind. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Shit. Shit.
My mouth goes dry as Rusty opens the door and steps out. He’s visible through the window, moving to stand behind the counter, his arms folded, rocking on his heels. They converse a minute, but I can’t hear any of it. He smiles, and the tone changes. They’re joking about something. Rusty nods.
One of them is middle-aged and bald, while the other is younger with wraparound shades pushed up on his head. The older one leans a fist to the counter, his other hand on his hip, and that’s when I see the gloves he’s wearing. He steps back to look at a photo on the wall, and I see the knee high black boots he wears.
Fucking hell, they’re motorcycle cops.
I feel the steel band around my chest loosen, and I can finally breathe again. I put a hand to my chest and suck in air. Thank you, God.
Rusty leans his elbows on the counter and chats with them a while. They’re obviously joking and shooting the shit.
One officer points toward the entrance, and Rusty moves around the counter to follow them out.
I relax in my chair and stare at the desk top, relieved for the moment, but my mind is still racing. What if they had been here for me? Isn’t it only a matter of time before I’m suspected in Thomas’s disappearance? Surely they’ll put me at the scene, if they haven’t already. They’ll want to talk to me; hell, they may even suspect me.
I’m sure the Rialto brothers have considered all these possibilities as well and want to find me before the police do. I have to face the fact that this isn’t going to go away. I may be running for the rest of my life.
I’ve got two options. I live my life in hiding, always fearful of who might walk through the door, or I face the music, go back, and tell what I know. Am I ready to risk everything, including my life to do that? I don’t want to be a coward, but I’m scared. I’m not a fool, and I really don’t think the police can protect me once the Rialto’s know where I am.
The door opens, startling me from my thoughts, and Rusty strolls in. “Grab your purse and come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Takin’ you to lunch.” His eyes sweep down me as I stand.