Page 121 of X's and O's

Whip lowered the black baseball cap on his head, and we got out.

We moved in unison, quick, quiet steps, sticking to the shadows. We separated, coming at the crappy little house from opposite directions. When we neared the building, we both paused. Whip made some sort of weird hand signals.

I screwed my face up, trying to decipher them.

Then made some of my own.

He trotted across the lawn to me and hissed, “Did you just spell out WTF with your fingers?”

I grinned at him. “You cracked my code!”

“I’m asking Gray for a new murder partner.”

“You have Levi.”

“He’s worse than you.”

“That’s not what your eyes were saying when you were mentally undressing him yesterday.”

Whip’s elbow landed straight in my gut.

I doubled over, half winded, half laughing.

The porch lights came on. “Who’s out there?”

“Now look what you’ve done, Whip!”

Georgie boy opened the door with a handgun pointed at us.

I mentally noted it, then flicked my gaze up at the man. “Well, that’s not very hospitable, is it? You don’t offer a cup of tea? Maybe a cookie?”

George’s expression turned sour. “Who the fuck are you?”

Whip stepped forward and pulled out a card from his pocket. “Good evening to you, sir. We’re from the Prison Outreach group. We go around, checking on prisoners after they’ve been released, making sure they know Jesus still loves them.”

I glanced at Whip and mouthed, “He does?”

Seemed to me like Jesus could stand to be a little pickier, but whatever.

Whip ignored me and held the card out to George. “We’re here to support you on your journey back to his heavenly light.”

“I don’t give a fuck about no heavenly light.” George screwed up his face and used his gun to flick the card out of Whip’s hand.

I flinched at the movement of the weapon, which was clearly what George was expecting.

But Whip was stone-cold solid.

His hand shot out like a viper, wrapping around George’s wrist, Whip’s fingers knowing the exact spot to press so George yelped in pain. He automatically dropped the weapon.

It fell into Whip’s free hand, and then he tossed it at me.

For a split second, I thought I saw Jesus’s heavenly fucking light.

I caught the gun, wincing, just waiting for me to touch it wrong and for it to go off.

It stayed silent.

I glared at Whip. “Could you warn me next time? I flunked out of Little League, you know! I can’t catch for shit!”