Headhunter (With Me in Seattle Mafia #2) - Kristen Proby Page 0,27

a bit.”

She walks into the house, and I pull my phone out of my pocket. I dial Carmine’s number and wait for him to answer.

“Yo,” he says in greeting.

“How are things there?” I ask, getting straight to the point.

“Quiet. Rocco and I are in the office, and we were just saying that it’s been very quiet. No chatter.”

“That’s not typical.” I lean on the railing and watch a herd of elk make their way into my pasture about a hundred yards away. “I don’t like it when it’s quiet.”

“I know. The ears on the ground say the same thing. No chatter, pretty mellow right now.”

“That means something’s going to happen.”

“We agree,” Rocco says, clearly on speakerphone. “You’re right to stay there for now. It’s likely the safest place.”

“Agreed,” I say with a sigh. Not because I don’t like being on my ranch. Quite the opposite. It’s the safest place for us, and it’s where I feel the most comfortable. But I don’t like this quiet. Feeling on edge, like the other shoe is about to drop. “I’m waiting for more info from Cox, and I have some feelers out, but I’m trying to be inconspicuous. It takes time.”

“If you need us, we can be there in a couple of hours. Or you can always come here if need be,” Carmine reminds me. “I know you don’t think it’s as safe as the ranch, but we can lock it down when we need to.”

“I know. Thanks. I’ll check in tomorrow.”

“Over and out,” Rocco says, cutting off the call.

Like I said, I don’t like it when there’s no chatter. It’s like when a person has a toddler, and quiet means chaos.

For now, all I can do is what I’m already doing. So, I walk inside, expecting Ivie to be out of the shower by now.

But when I come around the corner, I hear her talking to someone. I slow down, listening.

“I will fuck you up. That’s right, I said it. You don’t want a piece of me. Oh, does that make you nervous? What are you going to do about it?”

I inch forward, wanting to get a glimpse of what’s going on without being seen. If someone’s in there with her, I’ll kill them.

I pull my sidearm from the holster at my back and continue inching forward.

“Are you looking at me?”

I peer around the door and feel every muscle loosen in relief. Ivie’s standing in front of the mirror in just her blue jeans and black bra, her pistol tucked into her jeans at the small of her back. She quickly whips it out and points it at herself in the mirror.

“Are you fucking looking at me?” she demands and narrows her eyes at herself, leaning forward. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Then she holsters her weapon again.

I have to clamp my hand over my mouth so I don’t bust up laughing. I wouldn’t miss this show for the world.

She starts to walk away, then turns back quickly, drawing the weapon once more.

“Don’t piss me off, asshole.”

I can’t help it anymore. I can’t hold in the laughter. Ivie stills, and I see her cringe in the mirror as I walk up behind her and rest my hands on her shoulders, looking her reflection in the eyes.

“You’re kind of scary.”

She presses her lips into a line as her cheeks bloom into a bright pink. I want to kiss the hell out of her.

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Obviously.” I grin and kiss her neck where it meets her shoulder. “You do a great DeNiro impression.”

“You weren’t supposed to see that. Besides, you’re the one who literally just told me that I need to practice drawing my weapon.”

“I did, you’re completely right.” I can’t keep my hands off her. She’s simply irresistible. She spins to face me, and our lips meet in a kiss that starts sweet but quickly escalates to hot and needy.

“I’m too sweaty for sex,” she informs me but doesn’t push me away when I free her of her bra and let it fall to the floor.

“You’re just going to get sweaty again.”

“It’s different,” she insists and presses her hands to my chest. “Seriously, I need to wash up.”

“Okay.” I kiss her once more, then back up. “I’ll help.”

She quirks a brow. “Will you?”

“I’m an excellent back-washer,” I inform her, keeping my expression perfectly serious. “I’ve been told that I should go into business for myself, washing backs.”

“Told by whom?” She quirks a brow, purses her lips, and I know this is