Page 67 of Infinite

“Motherfucker,” I mutter.

“That’s right. We just have to pinpoint who the motherfucker is. My guess is that it’s that little bitch informant and that he works for, or has worked for you.”

Which narrows the playing field. “That’s my best guess, too. Make it happen, Mason.”

“Hale, we’ve got you.”

I disconnect, racking my brain for who it might be. There were a lot of new hires looking to prove themselves and none too happy about the constructive criticism I was hitting their ivy league educations with. There were also a few I’d let go, because of poor work ethics. If we can figure this out, and figure it out quickly, I can get back to my life and start my new one with Becca.

The doorbell rings. I assume it’s Trin with more food, and possibly Miss Silvie with real food for the dogs. I’m not expecting who I see.

“Hello, Hale,” Pris says, smiling. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

What the fuck? “What are you doing here, Pris?”

I should shut the door. Right here, right now, and barricade it with furniture. I would even offer her a whole rotisserie chicken if it would make her go away. But for all Pris and me weren’t good together, or for each other, I owe her a little courtesy.

She scoots under my arm before I’ve decided whether or not our conversation should take place indoors or outside where she can’t throw anything at me. Never mind. There are decorative stones along the front yard. Besides, I’ve pretty much determined I can keep her away from the knives.

I follow her in, smirking when I see her stop dead in front of Sam and Rosie. I wouldn’t call them watch dogs. They didn’t even bark to tell me Timmy fell in the well, or even offer so much as a run for your life warning bark. Hell, with Pris here, trouble’s definitely afoot. Can’t they see that?

They scoot forward slowly. “Are you dog sitting?” Pris asks.

“Nope. They’re mine.” I almost said “ours,” but I haven’t had time to hide the knives.

“You bought a dog?” She takes a gander at Sam. She raises her eyebrows so high, they almost disappear beneath her mound of hair. “And then this other thing?”

She sounds pretentious, I know. Believe it or not, this is Pris at her kindest.

“Yup, two of them.” I ruffle Sam’s fur. “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

My affection and easy way earn me a tail wag that quickly fades when he glances back at Pris. Sam doesn’t strike me as the judgmental type, seeing what he’s been through. That doesn’t stop the judgmental stare he passes from the top of Pris’s platinum hair to her leopard print dress and matching shoes.

I scratch the back of his ears. “Don’t worry, boy. It’s not real leopard,” I assure him. At least, not this time.

Rosie seems to have a super power for charming the ladies. Don’t get me wrong, I can picture her suffocating Pris in her sleep if she gets the chance. But for now, she gives her a small wag. She’s not a pedigree like Pris is used to, but Rosie is damn adorable.

Pris scoops Rosie up, her Fendi purse smacking against her side as she looks around. “This is . . . cute,” she says.

It’s awesome, as far as I’m concerned, but Pris isn’t here to shoot the shit. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here, Pris?”

Her shoes tap against the dark floors as she makes her way in. “What are you going to do with these creatures when you’re locked up for twenty years?”

I rub my face. “Pris, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. I. Do. I spoke to my attorney. You’re too pretty to go to prison. Some asshole with a tattoo of his mother on his face is going to make you his bitch.”

“That’s the spirit,” I mutter.

She sighs dramatically and walks away with my dog. I storm after her, visions of a new fur coat for Pris dancing eerily before me. “Pris? Where are you going with Rosie?”

“Who?”

“The dog, Pris.”

“To the living room,” she announces. She turns around, scowling just like she always does when I piss her off. “Why?”

“No reason,” I say, keeping poor Sam behind me. He whines. I don’t. I’m too busy eyeing the block of knives just a few feet away.

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