Tori went to sleep every night afraid. Woke up every morning afraid. Wherever she was, working her food truck, walking, or driving, she looked over her shoulder. She’d been running scared for so long, she couldn’t remember what it’d be like not to be afraid.
Grady looked at her and then punched letters into his cellphone. “I’m texting Guhleman again.” Good God, why did he have to look so handsome, his russet hair spilling over his forehead? Finished, he pocketed his cell. “The FBI is on the way here. No warrant necessary.”
“That’s good.” She slipped into her flats and turned to go. Island tomorrow night. What island exactly? Research awaited her, and she was anxious to get on with it. “You stay here. I’ll take a taxi home.”
“Smart idea. I’ll walk you out.” He followed behind her, walking her through the bar. An immediate slap of loud music and an undercurrent of voices rose and fell like waves crashing against the shore.
Gordon the Greaser puffed up his chest and bumped into a topless waitress. “There you are, Misty,” the cop said. “The boss wants you upstairs.”
The waitress laughed. “No can do. I’m quitting after this shift.”
Greaser pulled out his phone and punched numbers. “You’re right, boss. Misty is a spoiled brat. Has her haughty nose in the air.”
Tori touched Grady’s arm. “Misty caught a scent of something bad.”
“Like a worm.” Grady pulled Tori to his side, so close she inhaled the masculine scent of him. He wanted her close. She sensed it, and his nearness felt like a warm embrace. At the same time, she chided herself for allowing romantic notions inside her head, disturbed by the temporary alliance they shared. The partners, stuck together like stickers in wool, watched the cop speak into his cellphone.