Page 40 of Sizzling

“You were supposed to stay outside and keep watch,” King told him as he started the engine.

Thatcher let out an amused laugh. “You’ve gone soft, King. Got to toughen up, fucker, if you want to stay alive for that baby and wife of yours.”

“I’ve not gone soft,” King snarled.

“Shiiit,” Thatcher drawled. “Until tonight, I can’t think of a time a man pointed a gun at your head and you didn’t take him out yourself.”

“I was giving them time to back down,” he argued.

“I gave them fucking time. I counted to ten,” Thatcher replied.

King shook his head and pulled out onto the street, and we drove down the long drive that led to the Morse mansion.

“Storm was the only one going for his gun,” Thatcher pointed out. “You didn’t even move to go in that direction. Storm couldn’t take them both out at the same time, so I did what I needed to.”

King lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror to look at me.

I shrugged. “Gun was pointed at my head,” I replied.

He let out a sigh and looked back at the road.

Thatcher stretched in his seat, then turned his head toward King. “Heard our murderous little songbird asked for a fake identity. She needs birth certificate, Social, school records, all kinds of shit.”

What the fuck? I leaned forward and noticed King stiffen.

“Briar Landry is asking for this? Who did she ask?” King demanded.

“She talked to Abe’s sister. Seems the sister called her brother in for a favor, and Abe contacted Walsh, who went to Blaise. Boss called Wilder today with the order.”

“Blaise told him to do this?” King asked, sounded pissed.

“Yep.”

“I knew she was fucking lying!” he roared, hitting the steering wheel.

“Easy,” Thatcher said with a chuckle. “It’s not for her. It’s for some teenager. Briar can’t fucking pass for a fifteen-year-old kid, no matter what paperwork she has. She’s helping someone, it would seem.”

The teenage girl that had been in her car? What the fuck was Briar up to? Had she kidnapped someone? Would she do that?

“You’re quiet back there,” Thatcher said. “Thought you’d be interested in this little turn of events.”

I leaned back as my mind ran through every scenario I could. None of them looking good. “Why is Blaise helping a criminal?” I finally asked.

Thatcher turned to look back at me with a smirk twisting his lips. “Criminal? You’re mighty judgmental. Fucking men over for money isn’t a crime. It’s brilliant.”

“If this isn’t about Roger Ball, it doesn’t affect me,” King finally said. “But I want to know who the identity is for. If it’s connected to him, it could lead to him.”

“If he’s alive,” Thatcher added.

“Yeah, that,” King muttered.

“I’d bet my left nut he’s dead, and the songbird killed him, just like she said,” Thatcher said. “Regardless, Wilder couldn’t give us details. He isn’t authorized. He said he was just relaying the message and King could do with it what he wanted.”

“Why didn’t he call me, and why are you just now telling me?” King snapped.

Thatcher rolled down the window as he lit up a cigarette. “Because he didn’t trust you not to go running to Miami, and I knew we had a job to handle tonight. So, I waited.” He took a long draw, then glanced back at King. “Now, you know. Go south if you must, but it’s a waste of fucking time.”

King sighed heavily. “Cosette has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. The last time they had to give her shots, Rumor cried more than Cosi. I have to be there. Besides, if what’s her name, Melissa or whatever, runs, I’ll know. The tracker is on her car.”

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