Page 6 of Sinner's Secret

She glanced at him, frowned, then moved so she could see the asshole on the ground and Baz at the same time. “Yellow Cab, where’s his friend?” Her order had been barked like she’d spent most of her life in the Army. She held her gun the same way.

“Kissing pavement.” He angled his thumb over his shoulder to indicate where.

This was not the same woman who’d hurried past him, looking frightened and weak. Her body language had changed completely, and her voice, he knew her voice. She stood tall, her figure filling out her waitress uniform in all kinds of interesting ways.

She stared at Baz for a moment, her face shadowed by the building. “I heard a shot.”

He knew that don’t bullshit me tone. Shit, shit, shit. She was a cop and he’d interrupted something. Some kind of operation or something.

“Yes, ma’am, you did. Nailed my boot.” He pointed. “Good thing it’s a steel toe.”

“Don’t,” she said with all the warmth of a glacial ice age. “Call me ma’am.”

“No, ma’am, won’t ever.”

Her gaze turned razor sharp.

No matter the situation or how hard he tried, the asshole in him always came out.

“I need to call the cops?” he asked with idle curiosity. Maybe she hadn’t recognized him. Or she’d forgotten who he was. He’d really only talked to her a couple of times while at Joe’s Pub. Her father had been an old friend of Joe’s. A detective who’d retired a couple of years ago.

“They’re on their way.”

“Oh.” This part of the city sounded positively quiet. “I don’t hear sirens.”

She gave him a shark’s smile, and the danger meter inside his head went off. He’d screwed something up all right and now he was suddenly interesting and visible, two things that could make his life exceedingly difficult.

How would a regular guy, an almost homeless military vet who no longer looked at the world as safe, react?

He smacked himself on the forehead—a little dramatic, but it was all he could think of. “Fuck me,” he said with perhaps a little too much emphasis. “You are a cop.”

No wonder he’d never gone into acting.

Two cars and a van came toward them a whole lot faster than the speed limit allowed. No lights. No sirens.

“More cops or do we need to run?” he asked her.

“Cops,” she said, a hint of a laugh in her tone. “You spend time at Joe’s, don’t you, Yellow Cab?”

“Yeah. I’m Baz, Bazyli Breznik. Joe introduced us once.” He glanced around at the rundown storefronts. “This part of town is my beat, I guess you could say.”

“How long?”

This woman didn’t say a single word more than was necessary. “Last couple of years. I was in Chicago before that.”

All three vehicles came to a stop in a half circle facing the lady cop. Men in mostly ill-fitting suits exited with speed, but no fanfare.

“So, are you guys the men in black division of the police?” Baz asked as the group of seven men closed in on him, the blonde, and the asshole.

“Who’s this joker?” the oldest guy in the group asked her, looking at Baz.

“Yellow Cab,” she answered. “Came to my rescue. Check around the corner, there should be one more perp.”

A couple of the newcomers went to investigate.

One of them came back a few seconds later. “The guy is out cold.” He looked at Baz. “What did you hit him with?”

Baz shrugged. “My fist.”

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