When He's Dirty (Walker Security Adrian’s Trilogy #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,6
she so worried?”
“I’m prosecuting a very bad man.”
“Why is he bad?” I ask.
“Let me count the ways.”
“You’re not afraid?”
She folds her arms in front of her, a protective stance. “Terrified.”
I arch a brow. “And you’re still moving forward?”
“Someone has to.” She drops her arms, “And I mean, they really have to.”
“Because he’s bad,” I say and it’s not a question. He is bad.
“Very bad. And I care. I want to make a difference. It’s not political or showboating for me. I need to do this and do it well.”
I believe her. She’s motivated. She cares. But I’m also attracted to her, really fucking attracted to her, and I’ve learned the hard way that when it comes to people when it gets personal, fact-checking is lifesaving.
Adam’s voice sounds in my ear, “I’m out. All clear. And so far, so is she.”
I don’t reply to him. Instead, I study Pri, searching my gut for a bad reaction that doesn’t follow. “I changed my mind,” I say. “You do owe me.”
Her lips part and her head tilts, anticipation in her expression. “All right. What do I owe you?”
“The next time I see you here, you let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
Surprise, and then pleasure, seeps into her eyes, curving her lips. “Deal.”
I know this is where she expects me to set that date, but I don’t do that. I can’t do that. Instead, I lean in closer, a little closer, not near as close as I’d like and I say, “You look sexy as hell without make-up.” I wink and turn away, leaving her standing there.
Chapter Four
PRISCILLA
When was the last time I looked into a man’s eyes and felt my stomach flutter?
The answer: too long to remember before today.
I leave the coffee shop, coffee in hand, and during the three-block walk to my house, I’m still reliving my encounter with Rafael, replaying every word spoken, every casual touch that didn’t feel casual at all. Of course, my mother showed up, and Rafael was too sharp not to notice the tension. I’m definitely not the girl who takes a man home to the family, especially since my ex, whose still the son my father never had, would likely be there.
Arriving at my house, I disarm the alarm, enter, and shut the door, listening for any sound that might not belong, and when my nerves are eating away at me, I reset the alarm and then yank open the drawer to the table by the door, and remove my handgun. This is insane. If I’m going to keep doing this job, I need to move to a high-security apartment. I try to remind myself that not every case involves the King Devil, as Waters calls himself, but that’s hard to digest. My life is the devil right now, and people keep dying. No. They keep getting killed. Witnesses are dying. I’m not a witness, but I do have a responsibility to ensure they’re protected and that the people the Devils hurt find some justice.
I ease down the hallway and good Lord, I can’t stop myself. I call out, “Hello? Anyone here?” As if a killer would just say, “Oh, hi there, Pri, I’m in here in the kitchen.” Angry at my stupidity, I stiffen my spine and head down the hallway, my tennis shoes soft on the search of the house. When I’m certain it’s clear, I set the gun on my teal kitchen island and pull up a stool in front of my MacBook to check my messages before I shower. I quickly scan my inbox, hoping to hear from Agent Pitt about former FBI Agent Adrian Mack. Mack was inside the Devils’ operation, close to Waters. His testimony can take Waters down. He’s the one man between Waters and freedom.
I press my hands to my face. This case is huge. I have a team of people working with me, and while the DA manages every step I take and runs the case from the golf course. The pressure is immense and now, the danger, extreme. At least if I’d been an FBI agent, I could go to work with my weapon on my person. I’m licensed to carry but in my role, a gun at my hip, could be called intimidation. It certainly works against easing the nerves of witnesses. Instead, it’s hidden in my purse, which isn’t close enough for comfort right now.
I sip my coffee, which is now cold, and toss it in the trash before I dial Agent