Page 16 of Ten

“Show me your hands.”

Ten mockingly raised his hands and made the nastiest face at Eric. “Happy?”

“Not when you’re around,” Eric grumbled, moving his hand away from his sidearm. “Why are you here, Ten? Shouldn’t you be checked into your halfway house? I wouldn’t want you to miss curfew.”

The ugly way Eric spoke shocked me. I understood his protectiveness toward me, but he was taking it too far.

Ten didn’t miss a beat. “Says the man who still lives with his mother.”

I winced at that low blow. Eric’s mother had been unwell for years, and he had moved back in to help. Granted, there were some tight apron strings between them.

“I don’t have a curfew,” Ten said, his gaze meeting mine over Eric’s shoulder. “And I have my own home.”

“That your mafia boss pays for in exchange for you babysitting his wife,” Eric spat back.

“Don’t hate on me because I make more money than you doing half the work,” Ten remarked. “It’s not my fault you flunked out of college and had to get a job as a policeman. Maybe you should have taken the test to be a garbage man instead.”

Eric took a step forward, and I latched onto his arm. “No! Stop! Both of you!” I shot Ten a perturbed look. “You apologize right now.”

“What?” Ten reared back in shock. “I will not!”

“Yes, you will.” I moved between the two men, holding tight to Eric to keep him from leaving. “And then Eric will apologize to you.”

“The fuck I will!”

“Well, if you two can’t get along, I have nothing to say to either of you.” I shrugged. “Your choice. Apologize or lose my number.”

Ten huffed—actually huffed—like an irritated dragon. “Fine. I’m sorry, Eric.”

He didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t exactly order him to change his feelings. Still, it was a start.

“Eric?” I prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. Fine. I’m sorry, Ten.”

“See?” I beamed at both of them. “Was that so hard?”

Eric’s phone rang, and he shifted out of my hold to retrieve it. “Detective Santos. Uh-huh. Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Everything okay?” I noticed the grim set of his mouth as he slipped his phone into his pocket.

“No.” Eric looked at Ten. “Felix Osorio is dead.”

“Dancing Bear?” Ten seemed taken aback. “I saw him a few days ago. We have the same PO.”

“Not anymore. Someone slit his throat and shoved him in the ice machine in a motel laundry room.” Eric gestured between Ten and me. “I don’t know what this is, and I don’t like it. But—if you’re here because you care about her, take her home and stay with her tonight.”

Ten nodded. “That was the plan.”

“Wait. What does this Bear guy have to do with me?” I had never heard his name in my life, and I couldn’t understand why his murder had rattled Eric enough to make him ask Ten for a favor.

“He was a connection between your ex and the cartel,” Ten explained, his gaze never leaving Eric’s face.

I frowned. “No, that was Adrian Umansky.”

Ten shook his head. “Adrian was a driver on loan from us. The three of them—Adrian, Kiki and Tony Guerrero—would meet Dancing Bear to pick up the cargo and get their destination assignments.”

Rattled by how much Ten knew about my ex-husband, I gawked at him. He must have realized how much he had revealed in that statement because he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

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