When He's Dirty (Walker Security Adrian’s Trilogy #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,3
devil steal your soul,” Blake warns.
I don’t reply, but Nick Waters did that and more.
“There’s a vehicle at the curb waiting for you,” Blake says. “Now go, all of you, before you can’t get off the ground for the hellish wind. And stay the fuck alive. That’s an order.” He turns and starts walking.
My lashes lower and I want to push back, but Blake is gone now, and I need out of here now, tonight. And it appears that Lucifer is my only path to a quick face-off with Nick Waters, the Devils’ founder—the devil incarnate himself.
I turn and start walking toward the black SUV at the curb, Adam, and Lucifer at my side. Adam heads to the passenger seat up front, the bastard. I climb in the rear, and Lucifer is already there on the other side.
Savage is behind the wheel. “You aren’t leaving me out, motherfucker. I’m going with.”
“You’re married, Savage,” I remind him. “You don’t want in on this.”
“Someone has to keep you from ending up dead,” he argues. “And I’m born and raised in Texas. I know Texas. Lucifer and Adam don’t.” I open my mouth to argue and he shoots me the finger. “That’s for whatever you were about to say. We’re brothers now, even if you do tell stupid jokes.” He starts to turn and pauses. “I packed you a bag. Thanks for putting me on your approved list with your building security.” He settles back into his seat and starts driving.
I curse under my breath and buckle in for what I suspect is the beginning of what is going to be a helluva ride.
***
An hour later, we’re in the air, and the ride is bumpy, the memories of two years undercover as a Devil, bumpier. But I’ve decided Lucifer’s a godsend, at least behind the controls of a private jet. Savage is a pain my ass trying to find out where my head is, and Adam, well—Adam is Adam. He knows when to shut his mouth and just ride the bumps in silence.
We land at a private airport outside Austin and Blake has a downtown house rented for us, not far from where Priscilla lives. By Friday night, I’m damn glad we got out of New York when we did. The airports are shut, and yet, Team Walker is already at work here in Texas. Lucifer and Savage have headed out to hunt down the Devils’ right-hand man, Jose Deleon, who is undoubtedly behind the murder of two witnesses. Meanwhile, Adam and I are going to watch Priscilla and decide if I’m going to testify.
My first glimpse of Priscilla is that morning, when she takes an early morning jog, her long, fit legs, and easy pace, establishing this as a normal routine. I jog with her but at a distance. She ends at a quirky little coffee shop by her house called Try Hard Coffee Roastery—Austin is full of quirky little places. I sit down at an outdoor table and wired to Adam, who’s presently searching her house, I hit my mic. “She’s wrapping up. How are you looking?”
“I was slow getting in. Buy me time.”
“Copy that,” I say, and since Priscilla doesn’t know what I look like, I have nothing to hold me back.
I stand up and walk into the coffee shop, stepping behind her in the line only two deep, a good move since she’s on the phone. “Yes, sir,” she says. “I know, sir. I’m aware this is an election year. I’m aware that you’re the first elected DA in Texas ever, but with all due respect, I’m not motivated by your re-election. I’m motivated by his heinous crimes.”
Obviously, she’s talking to the DA, Ed Melbourn, who I know from personal experience to be an arrogant asshole. A muffled, raised male voice lifts and reaches my ears. She holds the phone from her ear and when the shouting stops, replaces it and says, “I’ll get him.”
Apparently, Melbourn hangs up.
Priscilla makes a frustrated sound and shoves her phone back into a pocket on the side of her shorts. “Morning, Pri,” the fifty-something redhead behind the counter calls out.
Priscilla or rather “Pri” hurries forward to greet her. “Morning, LouAnne.”
Her shorts are red. Her voice is sweet. Her ass is sweeter. That doesn’t mean she’s sweet. In fact, some of the most dangerous people I’ve ever known had nice asses and cold hearts. I’ve never really found the idea of being fucked dead appealing.