Page 43 of The Last Straw

Hank sighed. “She’s not agent material.”

“Why the hell not?” Vance asked.

“Because she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about rules.”

Vance laughed. “Copy that. Anyway, we’re still on the job, so I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the info. We owe you.”

“We both owe Wyrick,” Hank said. “I hate being beholden to that woman. She’s brilliant, but she’s scary as hell. I don’t ever want to make her mad again.”

“That sounds like a story,” Vance said.

“Someday...over barbecue and beers,” Hank said. “Thanks for calling.”

Then he took up the burgers and headed inside, and none too soon. The sky had clouded up out of nowhere, and he could already smell rain.

The raid wasn’t a total bust. Raver was dead, and his followers were already trying to deny their connections to him and the church. Hopefully, this would keep Wyrick safe—at least for now. As soon as they had their dinner, Hank called Charlie to let him know.

Charlie was in the formal dining room with the blueprints spread out all over the long cherrywood table, checking original measurements of the Detter House against the newer ones, looking for things that didn’t add up.

Wyrick was in the office, still running background checks on the current residents. He’d set the timer on his phone to keep track of the time on the frozen lasagna he had baking, but he was hungry, and left the blueprints to check on the food.

He opened the oven to bubbly, lightly browned, cheesy goodness, just as the timer went off on his phone. He took the lasagna out of the oven, set it aside to cool, then turned off the oven.

Since dinner was his job for the rest of the week, he pulled a bag of salad mix out of the refrigerator, dumped it in a bowl, dressed it and put it on the table, then sent Wyrick a text.

Dinner is served, m’lady.

Wyrick heard the ding signaling a text and glanced at her phone, saw it was from Charlie, read it, then saved what she was doing and went to wash up.

Charlie was digging flatware out of a drawer when Wyrick walked in.

“Smells good. I’m starving,” she said.

Charlie eyed her fresh face, devoid of makeup, the old Dallas Cowboys shirt she was wearing, and the black leggings beneath it, and carried forks back to the table.

“You’ve got some long legs to fill up,” he said and handed her a fork. “Dig in.”

“You, who has a forty-inch inseam, feels the need to discuss long legs,” she drawled, then picked off a piece of crusty cheese from the side of the pan and popped it into her mouth.

Charlie wondered how she knew the length of his inseam, then shrugged it off.

Another timer went off. He pulled a sheet pan of toasted garlic bread from the broiler and carried it to the table.

They were in the midst of filling their plates when Charlie’s phone rang. He started to let it go to voice mail, and then saw who was calling.

“It’s Hank. I better take this,” he said.

“Give him my love,” Wyrick drawled.

Charlie was laughing when he answered.

“This is Charlie.”

“Hey, Charlie... Hank here. I have news. Is Wyrick anywhere around?”

“Why, yes, she’s right here. We’re just about to have dinner.”

“Put the phone on speaker, okay?”

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