Page 110 of Smooth Sailing

I made a face. “Father/son tag team rapists? Is this guy that gross?”

“Again, I don’t know, but Scott needs to, so as they investigate this, it doesn’t get fucked.”

Damn, crap, shit.

I pushed back in bed, reaching for my phone on my nightstand, mumbling, “I’m gonna call Scott.”

“You want me to bring you coffee?”

I stared at him while mentally unfurling more of the scroll on which I was writing the pro side of the Do I Want to Explore This with Hugger List.

If you’re keeping track, it was only the not-touchy thing that was on the con side, and he kept being touchy, so that was written in pencil.

“Would you?” I asked.

“’Course,” he muttered, bent in, touched my forehead with his bristly lips (another pro!) and then he left to get me coffee.

Were all bikers like this?

I really wanted to know.

I tried to decide if brushing my teeth or calling Detective Scott was my top priority and settled on the detective by a narrow margin because morning mouth was icky.

He picked up right away.

“Diana?”

“Hello, Detective Scott.”

“As I keep saying, you can call me Rayne.”

He had a really nice name to go with a really nice face.

In fact, before Hugger, he was totally my type.

But I bet he didn’t vacuum.

“Harlan filled me in,” I shared.

“Right.”

“So now I need to know what to do with Madison. I mean, can you come to us, where she feels safe? Or should I figure out how to get her to you?”

“Optimal for my purposes, if we can get her to open up, I’d want her in a room where I could get what she says recorded. But if we can get her to open up, I don’t care where it happens.”

“Gotcha on that. What about her family?”

“That’s your call. She’s not living in my space. But I’d urge you to make that happen soon. They know what happened to her and they’re coming apart at the seams.”

Damn, crap, shit.

Hugger came in with my coffee.

“Okay, give me a half an hour, and I’ll call you back.”

“Appreciated.”

“Later.”

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