My body locked.
“Fuck, I’ll call Lawson and I’m comin’ in,” Brock kept talking. “Right, be there in ten.”
He disconnected.
“What?” I asked.
“Gotta go to the Station.”
“Is everything with Tyra okay?”
Brock held my eyes.
Then no games, no bullshit, straight out, he said softly, “No. Shit’s goin’ down, baby, it’s not good and she may be a target from two angles.”
“Those would be?”
“Connection to Chaos, who the Russian mob thinks f**ked them over, connection to some guy who just plain f**ked over the Russian mob.”
I closed my eyes but opened them when I felt his hand wrap around the back of my neck and his mouth touch mine.
He tasted of frosting.
This normally would make me feel better.
Right then, it didn’t make me feel better.
His head lifted. “Gotta go.”
I nodded.
“Love you, darlin’,” he whispered.
“I love you too, Brock,” I whispered back.
Brock went.
I lifted my phone and called Tyra.
There was no answer.
I disconnected and called her again.
* * * * *
Mara
At the same time, Mitch Lawson and Mara Hanover’s house, East Denver…
“Do I have to go?”
This was Bud, sitting on a stool outside the bar that fenced one side of the kitchen that was smack in the middle of our house and opened off into a huge, cathedral ceiling living room.
“Yes,” I replied.
“But I don’t wanna shop for school clothes,” he told me and I felt the side of Mitch’s front move in close to the side of the back of mine. So close, we brushed.
This, he did a lot.