Page 104 of Bishop

Yeah, with fucking hostility. I thrum with it. My limbs tense with self-loathing.

“Your cell,” she clarifies, glancing to the vanity. “You should get that. It could be about my mother.”

Fucking hell.

I turn and stalk from the shower, yanking a towel off the rack to wrap around my waist before snatching my phone.

“Give me good news,” I grate at Najeeb in greeting.

“Can do. I got a hit on your woman with the facial recognition software. She was on Interstate 64 just outside Louisville, Kentucky, roughly twenty-four hours ago.”

What the fuck is Adena doing in Kentucky?

“So I went back and followed her path,” he continues. “I’ve tracked her through every freeway checkpoint from Virginia Beach. It looks like she’s making the car trip home.”

I frown, turning my back to Abri as she quickly washes herself with soap and then shuts off the shower. “She mistakenly assumed the road would make her less detectable than an airport.”

“Probably. She’s in a rental. A black Dodge Durango. And she’s not alone. There’s a male driver. I haven’t been able to get a clear image of him yet, but I’ll run what I’ve got through my photo-editing software a few more times and send something over as soon as it’s worthwhile.”

“I also want details on any other cars that might be following her. I need to know if she’s got a team.”

“Already done. I haven’t seen an entourage. It’s just her and the guy.”

“Good. Keep me updated and get me those images asap.”

“Will do.”

I disconnect the call, all too aware of Abri wrapping herself in a towel behind me.

“Was that about my mother?” she asks.

I grab my weapons off the vanity and my clothes from the floor. “She was sighted in Kentucky. If we’re lucky, she’s on her way back to Denver.” I start for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait. What happens now?”

She reaches for me and like motherfucking Spiderman, I swing away from contact at warp speed.

Her lips press tight, the edges twitching upward as she attempts to suppress a laugh.

“What?” I snap.

“Nothing.” She raises her palms in placation. “It’s just cute how you’re scared of me, that’s all.”

How the fuck could I be scared of her when her taste still lingers on my goddamn tongue?

“That’s the second time you’ve used cute to ignorantly describe me, let alone scared,” I snarl. “I suggest it be your last.”

Her lips press harder, her humor barely contained. “Okay. Understood.” She nods, still holding up those palms in surrender. “But can you please tell me what happens now?”

“Nothing. Not a fucking thing. You keep your hands to yourself and I’ll do the same with mine.”

She snaps her gaze to the tiled floor, her cheeks high with a bubbling smile.

She meant what happens with her goddamn fucking mother.

Jesus Christ, Bishop. You dense son of a bitch.

“We sit tight until we have more information,” I grate through clenched teeth, continuing from the bathroom without a backward glance. “Goodnight.”

---