Page 17 of Lawless in Leather

“Hold on.”

The crackling stopped. Mal stared at the door wondering if he was just going to be left standing there like an idiot. But then the door opened, revealing Raina in yoga pants, a vivid purple tank top that hugged her curves and momentarily distracted him, and sparkly pink shoes he thought might be tap shoes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, dark brows drawing together. Her cheeks were flushed, the pink glow making her eyes extra green. Apparently he’d caught her mid-rehearsal or something.

“I saw your door,” Mal said.

She didn’t look any more happy to see him. “My door?”

“You’ve repainted it. It was pink the other night.”

“And you prefer pink to black?”

“I was wondering why the change.”

“Maybe I prefer black to pink?”

He looked down at her shoes then back up at Raina, one brow lifting. “Somehow, I don’t see it. Did someone tag your door?”

“Tag? You mean graffiti?”

“Yes.”

“You came here to ask me if someone graffitied my door?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because in my experience, a repainted door means it got damaged. Damaged front doors usually aren’t a good sign. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

This time her brows, which were a very dark brown that he guessed might be her actual hair color, lifted. “Well, that’s very nice of you. And very nineteen-fifties of you, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

She didn’t look at him as she said it. Instead she seemed to find her sparkly shoes very interesting.

Scrap fine then. “Is someone making trouble here?” he asked.

“No.” Her head lifted but she looked past him, not at him.

“Raina, I’m a security expert. And ex-special-forces. I’m pretty good at spotting both trouble and when someone is lying to me.”

She sighed. “It’s nothing, just kids.”

“What did they write?”

Her lips pressed together.

“I can stand here all day,” Mal said.

“I bet you can’t,” Raina said. “Bet you have to be somewhere else.”

He folded his arms. “Just tell me, Raina.”

This time her sigh sounded like it came all the way from her toes. “Whores.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what they wrote. Whores.”

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