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“Sugar.” Cash nailed her with a watch-your-ass look.
She pursed painted lips and started again. “I’d rather keep my rifle rolodex to myself, thank you.”
Nic pushed her. “Your guy has connections you don’t need.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Smooth arrived in the U.S. three months ago. We’ve been mapping out his network.”
“I’m not part of his network.”
“Didn’t say you were, but I’d like to know who you know. We didn’t think he’d sell to legit sources.” Nic used air quotes around legit.Wasn’t that nice of her?“And we didn’t think it’d infiltrate this far south or this fast to consumers.”
“And who is we?”
Nicola paused. There’s no way she’d say CIA. “Titan.”
He didn’t expect that either. According to the look on Sugar’s face, neither did she. Nic wasn’t exactly Titan. She was contract help. But better that lie than no response. They should have worked out a little back story before they went in, questions ready to fire.
Sugar tapped pink nails on her desk, quick taps, one right after the other. “Cash, you two go out back. Take your pick from my private gun stash. I have a couple calls to make.”
“All right. Let’s give her a minute. Come on, Nic.”
Nicola dropped the huge black hole bag. Everything spilled out. Why’d the woman need all that stuff?
“Sorry. Sorry.” She scooped it without looking, shoving it all back in from where it came. “Sorry.”
He didn’t take Nic for the bumbling type, especially after the ladies had gone back and forth like that. A lip gloss-lipstick thing rolled under Sugar’s desk. “Oh, you—”
“I’m ready.”
“But—”
“Jesus, Cash. I got all my stuff. Let’s go.”
Oh no, she didn’t.The glimmer in her eye said oh yes, she did. Titan had their toys. The CIA had theirs. Nicola had a listening device that looked like a tube of fancy-dancy lip gloss.
Listening devices weren’t necessarily legal. Then again, when did he, Titan, or the CIA play by the national security rule book?
His gut re-twisted. This was Sugar though. He trusted her.Right?
Nic led the way out, and they shuffled to the outdoor course after grabbing a couple long rifles from Sugar’s stash-o-guns. He waved to a couple folks he knew and took every opportunity to catch Nic’s eye. She wasn’t having it, and he wasn’t talking about it. Who knew who else was listening?
They headed to the outdoor course. Manmade hills, swaying tall grass, and creative-assed obstacles that Cash knew exploded in colored smoke were dead ahead. Flags showed a mild, five mile per hour breeze. The sun had started to sink, but they had hours more of summer daylight.
He took position, loaded up a .45 that was eons away from as much fun as Miss Betty and fired. Blue smoke burst and billowed.
“Nice shot,” Nic said.
“Easy shot.” Her approval was completely unneeded, yet it tugged on his cheeks. Maybe now he could push her on the lipstick move. “Nice move.”
She squinted. “I haven’t gone to the line yet, crazy.”
“Yet you’ve already crossed it.”
Nic mouthed a dramatic oh. “’Cause she’s your friend?”
“Because I said she could be trusted.”