up her impromptu weapon like it’s completely natural for a woman to wield ad-hoc bludgeons like golf clubs and ancient stone statues on a regular basis. “Sure, you were.”
My gut twists, the fear of losing her turning into hot, liquid fury as I look at the still stunned Mr. Big. Poppy, my woman, had a gun held on her, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t save her.
Shame weighs on my soul.
She’s such a bright light, one the world needs, and it was almost snuffed out too soon. Because of me.
But I can fix this. Moving quickly to Mr. Big’s sprawled body, I pick up the gun from the concrete before plucking the statue from Poppy’s hand, not wanting her to crack me over the head with it too.
JP, who realizes that somehow, he’s been given the gift of life at the last moment, looks at me in shock. “Connor?”
I look him in the eye, trusting my gut. “Both of you, let’s go. Now.”
JP’s eyes narrow, and I know what he’s thinking. I pissed off a very valuable, very violent man. What’s stopping me from doing the same to JP?
“Not a question,” I tell him, tucking the pistol into my belt. “We’ve got some shit to talk about.”
We go out the back door of the building and around the side to climb into my truck with Poppy in the back and JP in the passenger seat because I’m not entirely sure I trust him at my back just yet.
As soon as we’re clear of the parking lot, I grab my phone and dial Hunter.
Despite how our last conversation finished, he answers on the very first ring. “Miss me already?”
There is no time for niceties or manners. Shit’s hit the fan, officially and majorly. “Need a pickup team at the auction house. Mr. Big is unconscious in the back room. You’ll recognize him. Shane Harris.”
Hunter’s tone goes serious instantly as he demands, “What? What did you do?”
“Not me, Poppy,” I reply, glancing into the rearview mirror. Poppy still looks like she’s pleased as punch about this whole thing. “She hit him over the head with the fucking statue.”
Hunter unexpectedly barks out laughter in my ear. “She does like to hit things, doesn’t she?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, ask her. It’s a funny story.”
I glare at her, and she smiles like nothing is wrong in the world, even though she just fucked up everything I’ve been working on for months. And almost got herself shot in the process!
“I’ve got Poppy and JP. Mr. Big says he’s been talking to the police.”
Hunter’s voice goes so hard I’m surprised he can unlock his jaw enough to answer me. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’ll be in touch.”
I hang up and glance over at JP, who’s looking at me in confusion. He usually bosses me around, but planning is my job, down to the exit strategies. Even when they’re this fucked up.
Chapter 24
Poppy
Connor looks furious as he hangs up with Hunter.
I never thought ‘mad’ could be this sexy of a look. On Connor, or anyone, really. I thought it’d make him look scary. But instead, he looks like he could slay a dragon and then cook it over a bonfire for the whole town to feast on.
Maybe I can write that into my book somehow? Though it’s not a fantasy period piece, so a random dragon showing up might be a stretch. But maybe a town barbeque? Hero dude just standing at a grill, wearing a plaid apron and holding a spatula. That’s . . . not as sexy. Never mind, I think, scrubbing that idea off my mental possibilities list. But either way, all I want to do is rip that suit off and get me some Connor meat.
“Poppy.”
“Connor,” I return, still pleased with myself.
“Why does Hunter think you’re aggressive?” he asks, meeting my eye in the rearview mirror.
“Huh?” It takes me a second to leave behind my barbeque scenario and return to this one where Connor is gritting his teeth so hard, the muscle in his jaw is popping. “Oh, because I introduced him to Gary, up close and personal. Real personal. In my defense, it was absolutely warranted.”
Connor glances back at the road, his eyes tight. “When?”
“When he was at your house last night. I demanded to know where you were. He didn’t want to tell me at first, but with a little persuasion from Gary” —I hold up my thumb and finger an inch apart— “he was singing like a