Page 101 of Buried Too Deep

She gripped his chin gently, pulling him back to face her. “If that’s out of practice, I’m volunteering as tribute to further hone your skills.” She rubbed her thumb over his lip. “But I’ll leave you alone for now. I didn’t come out here to kiss you. I came out here because I needed to sleep and, for whatever reason, I can do that with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Because I’m boring.”

She smiled up at him. “Because you’re solid. And smart. And loyal. And pretty damn hot.”

He needed to say something. He opened his mouth, but no words would come.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as her smile grew. “Blink once for thank you and twice for I’m not interested, please go away.”

He blinked once, hard.

“Good.” She let go of his chin and snuggled into his side. “I’ll kiss you again tomorrow, fair warning. Now I’m going to sleep.”

Within minutes, she was breathing deeply and Phin was still reeling.

But smiling. It was still insane, but he’d let himself have this. This feeling of being enough. For a little while.

For as long as it lasted.

The Warehouse District, New Orleans, Louisiana

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2:10 A.M.

The ringing of Sage’s cell phone didn’t wake him, because he hadn’t been able to fall sleep. He’d been staring at the ceiling for hours, wondering if he shouldn’t be breaking into his grandfather’s study right now, so that he could find out what in the safe had put that look on Alan’s face.

That look of defeat and guilt.

What the hell had Alan done?

But the guard on night duty would surely inform Alan that Sage had entered the gated community, so he was going to have to wait. Even though the suspense was killing him.

Clumsily he reached for his phone, frowning when he realized it was the burner phone. Only a few people had that number. “Hello?”

“It’s Sanjay.”

His contact at the car rental facility. Sage had met Sanjay through Alan. Sanjay’s parents had been some of Alan’s most ardent supporters. They’d never missed a Sunday, always dropped cash in the offering plate, and generally hung on Alan’s every word.

Sage and Sanjay, on the other hand, had been typical teenagers—stealing away to smoke pot. Sage provided the money and Sanjay had the connections. Years later, he and Sanjay rarely smoked anymore.

Sanjay had a job with a car rental company at the airport. Sanjay hooked Sage up with rentals whenever he needed to be discreet. His own Porsche was too recognizable.

Usually Sage borrowed the cars when he went clubbing in Gulfport, far away from Alan’s watchful eyes, but sometimes it was for business. Like the Camry he’d picked up the morning before or the minivan he’d borrowed when he’d broken into Cora Winslow’s house.

Sanjay rented the vehicles in his own name and Sage forked over the cash, usually twice the actual fee. He knew Sanjay was overcharging him, but discretion was sometimes expensive.

“What’s up?” he asked with a yawn.

“We got a police inquiry about the Camry that I rented you off the books. Came in just before midnight. You need to ditch it, man. Leave it somewhere and I’ll come and get it after my shift is up.”

Shit, damn, and fuck it all. “Who made the inquiry?”

“Detective Clancy. Is that meaningful?”

Unfortunately, it was. He was the detective investigating the murder of Medford Hughes. Sage wondered if that old librarian had turned him in. Or someone might have spied him parked near Cora Winslow’s house. Either way, this was not good. “No,” he lied. “I’ll move the car and text you. It’ll come from my burner, so be watching for it.”

“Will do. And…best not to call me again for a while. I think I can hide this, but not if it happens again.”

Sage wanted to tell the man to go to hell, but he might need him later. “Of course,” he said and ended the call.

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