Page 2 of Little Blue

This time, I do smile. “Count on it, brother.”

I disconnect, sliding the phone into my pocket as I appraise the situation. The people inside the sea-can aren’t screaming, clawing to break free. They never do that, too paralyzed by fear to move. To take the risk of something worse than what they’ve already suffered.

Quiet as they are, their strained sobs flood the port like ghostly whispers on the wings of a sea breeze. It taints the humid, salty-from-the-sea, night, with the poison of dehydrated tears.

I inhale through my nose as I peer in the direction of the sea-can, Misha’s eyes on me. He speaks, “They are mostly women and children.”

“How many are dead?”

“Too many.”

My chest expands with a breath. “Where are they from?”

“Somewhere in Asia, most likely.”

“Give them jobs. Have Tamara find them somewhere to live. Tell her to speak with our contact at immigration. Get the paperwork started.”

Misha nods. “And what about the dead?”

My jaw clenches. There will be no headstones for the dead. “Dispose of them as respectfully as you can.”

One

Irelynn

“Girl, the scowl.” Rae waves her glittery, red-tipped nail in my face. “Wipe it off or you’re going to secure that pesky virgin status for another year.”

My eyes slide to hers, and I slow blink.

The crap she says sometimes. Honestly.

“You’re the only one who say’s it’s pesky.”

“Apart from you, I’m the only one who knows.” She takes a big sip of her martini, shoulders shimmying in a way I just know spells trouble.

I don’t want trouble. I certainly don’t need it.

I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime.

When it comes to trouble, I’m retired!

Rae’s grin turns scandalous. “Hank has been staring at you, you know?”

Yep. Trouble.

“I’m not sleeping with someone I work for.” I swear, she says these things to get a rise out of me.

None-the-less, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation at a company Christmas party. In November! Last week was fricking Halloween.

We haven’t even had Thanksgiving, and we’re celebrating the coming of Christmas. I get it, though. Money is tight, and it’s astronomically cheaper to rent a party room outside the Christmas demand. Still…

To make matters worse, they’ve decided to host this party in a casino.

Of all the places.

My nerves jitter. I fight not to fidget, nibbling my lip instead.

This is so not my scene.

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