Page 23 of Torched Spades

It’s that thought that has me reaching for my whiskey, the silence hanging like a noose around my neck. Knocking the rest of my drink back in one, I toss the glass onto the cushion beside me, then shove my hand back into my pocket and pull out a lead cap. “Bullets and blades,” I murmur, rolling it between my fingers.

“Mr. Malone?”

“Fine,” I concede, the fire in my throat matching the one in my veins. “I’ll be there in two hours.”

“I’ve pulled your employment records. You live twenty minutes from the station.”

“I know.” Ending the call, I turn my attention back to the bullet. It’s the one that grazed my shoulder. Theonlyone not sitting at the bottom of the river.

I kept it as a reminder of what could happen.

Tossing it on the coffee table, I return to my phone and punch in a familiar code. Within seconds, the screen ignites with an image of Becca’s empty bedroom. There’s no midnight show this time. Only a tidy condo with potential ‘various points of forced entry.’

The longer I stare, the more Carol Reese’s smiling face forces its way into my head, staring at me with those bright blue eyes.

That’swhy I kept the bullet.

That’swhy I agreed to meet with Detective Ledger.

That’swhy I have no choice but to keep seeing Becca.

None of it has anything to do with agendas, obligations, threats, or our damn deal. It’s because it’s only a matter of time until the Rogue tracks my name back to Becca.

Then a bullet aimed at me becomes a bullet aimed at her…

And I won’t haveanotherinnocent woman’s blood on my hands.

Chapter Seven

JOHNNY

It doesn’t take longto determine the order of Detective Ledger’s call log.

Only a couple of steps inside the Providence Police Department lobby, and I lock gazes with a bleary-eyed Henry. He freezes mid-stride, his fists clenching as the weariness etched in his face melts into fury.

He takes one step.

Then two.

Then three.

Then the few feet of distance between us disappears, and we’re standing face-to-face, his pale cheeks flaming brighter than the mop on his head.

“What the fuck happened last night, Johnny?” he spits out.

I shrug. “How the hell should I know?”

It’s not the answer he wanted, but it’s the only one he’s going to get.

“My name was on the schedule for the China shipment, so these dickheads don’t believe I was hauling Bentleys all night,” he scowls, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I had to pull half a dozen guys from berth five in to back me up.” Narrowing his eyes, he gives me a slow perusal before adding, “Hope you were banging Alice in that back office, otherwise you’re fucked.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when a deep voice clears behind him. “Once again, you’re free to go, Mr. Starling.” Henry’s gaze widens as a tall with overly gelled brown hair slides out from behind him and settles his dark blue eyes on me. “Mr. Malone, I presume.”

Detective Jack Ledger.

I don’t have to see his badge to know it’s him. That arrogant smirk plastered across his face tells me all I need to know—which makes him even more interesting because the fucker looks like the most popular accountant at the tax firm.

A web search isn’t needed to know this guy’s story. He’s a pretty boy who most likely climbed the ranks by kissing the right asses. Still, I’ll give him points for a dramatic entrance. He sure as hell shriveled Henry’s balls into raisins. However, I’m not so easily rattled, especially by cheap theatrics.