Page 26 of Grave Curse

“She met someone last night.”

Every muscle in my body locked. It was the only way to stop myself from grabbing Romeo by his cut and shaking him. “Who?”

“Don’t have a name yet, but something about this guy bugs me. He looks like he’s from the life.” My friend took out his ever-present phone and tapped it a few times. A second later my phone buzzed silently in my back pocket. “We got some good shots of him. Does he look familiar to you?”

I fished my phone out in record time, opened the text app and frowned down at the photos Romeo had sent. No doubt about it. This guy was definitely a brother of the road. “I’ve never seen him. Nomad, maybe?”

“Could be. I mean, the final rally of the season’s coming up, so we’re already getting lots of new faces popping up. Enough, anyway, to make every one of my security-minded nerves twitch. But this guy still bothers me. Of all the places for him to be and of all the people for him to meet, he shows up at Lush—not exactly a biker hangout, with all those girlie drinks they serve—and he runs across Ginger. That’s put him on my radar.”

“Mine too.” I looked up at Romeo with hard eyes. “I need to know who this fucker is.”

“I’ve got facial recognition software working on it now. If he’s been in the system, we’ll find him.”

“He’s got tats on his hands, maybe from prison. I can’t tell for sure.” What I could tell was that those tattooed hands couldn’t seem to stop touching Ginger, if the photos were any indication. Reaching for her injured hand. Curling his fingers around hers. Leaning into her personal space and putting his face right up against her head to… what? Breathe in her honeysuckle and baby powder scent? Whisper something to her? Caress her? Kiss her?

A sharp crack sounded in the silence of the room, coming from the phone I held. It’s camouflage plastic case fell apart, with the biggest chunk of it falling to the floor. We both pondered the broken piece for a moment before Romeo shifted.

“As soon as I know who this guy is, I’ll let you know.”

“Good, thanks.”

“In the meantime, if you’re going to turn off cams, text me first. That way I won’t shit kittens when it happens.”

“I’ll do my best.” I watched Romeo shut the office door behind him, then picked up the broken piece of phone case and pitched it all into the waste basket by my desk. I had a shit-ton of work to do; I needed to go over the final preparations of how we were going to provide for all the Gravedigger chapters coming in for the rally. I also needed to hit the gym, because now was not the time to slack off on being battle-ready.

But did I do any of that?

Hell, no.

Phone in hand, I perched my ass against the edge of my desk and studied the pictures of the unknown nomad daring to touch what was mine. It took nearly a minute for me to force my attention on to something else.

Sort of.

I opened the security cam views that Romeo’s team had installed inside Ginger’s place while she was at work yesterday, and zeroed in on the one with a hint of movement on it. I tapped the screen, and suddenly there was Ginger, in all her redheaded glory, shuffling out of the bathroom in a thick terry robe and slicked-back wet hair.

“Fresh from a shower, are we? Must not be too hungover.” As I watched her move toward her unmade bed, I could only wish there were such a thing as smell-o-vision. I could just imagine breathing in all that clean honeysuckle goodness that had to be surrounding her like a scented cloud straight from heaven itself. Then she plopped onto the edge of the bed, huddled deeper into the robe, and keeled over sideways to bury her head in the pillow.

Whoops.

Okay, so maybe the hangover was worse than I thought.

Sliding the image aside for a moment, I hit the phone app. “Hey, she’s up. Go ahead and deliver it, but don’t let her see who you are.” I hung up and switched back to my favorite view, and grinned at the screen when I heard the bell ring.

“Death,” Ginger declared succinctly before she dragged herself toward the stairs. “Murder. Decapitation. I’ll eat your fucking liver, whoever you are, dead man.”

Haha. She was so hilarious.

She might have been hungover and pissy, but she was still the person who grew up in a world of violence and fully expected said violence to be waiting for her around every corner. Before she got to the sliding front door, she plucked up a baseball bat out of an umbrella stand nearby. Then she rested it on her shoulder, took a deep breath and hit the button on a security screen by the door that I’d insisted be installed before she moved in. “Whaaaat?!”

I burst out laughing. Honest to fucking God, Hollywood needed to make a sitcom out of her life.

“Uh… Delivery. Ginger Sisko.”

“Delivery?” Her tone carried the weight of a thousand question marks. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Not my problem, lady. I’m leaving it on the doorstep.”

“Whatever. Oh, and, um… sorry I yelled. Thank you.”

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