Page 24 of Exposé

"Wow. Thank you."

"Of course. Good luck." She walked towards the coffee bar and greeted the woman in gray high heels and a pencil skirt.

Reagan's penmanship would leave the best calligrapher jealous in their tracks.

Skeeter?

What kind of name is that?

Pulling upPipl,I ran his address and alias through the search and pinged him.

Carson 'Skeeter' Givens

Age: 45

"Okay, already a perv."Fantastic.

I rolled my eyes and continued down his police jacket, no doubt four inches thick, with arrests dating back to the nineties. All them coming out of the same address his entire life…two blocks up.

I could walk there.

And ask him what?

Glancing out the window, the sun peeking over the buildings, chasing away the eerie shadows of the night, I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Where am I going with this story?

I growled and tossed my hand on the table, the bustling coffee shop moving into silence.

My shoulders shrunk as I took in the patrons’ eyes trained on me.

"Sorry."

I blinked my dry eyes and used the heavy awkwardness as my cue to pack it up and get out of there.

Closing my laptop, I slipped it into my bag, pulled the strap over my shoulder, and shimmied my way outside.

I rubbed my eyes again and turned the corner towards my parked car, my body jolting to a stop as it collided with a fleshy wall of muscle.

My bag slid down my shoulder, pressing on my inner elbow, my hand reaching out for the brick wall beside me.

Two large, strong hands gripped my arms, steading my wobbling stance.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"No. No. It's my fault. I was looking at my phone."

His voice rumbled with a deep undertone, sending a wave of lust to my toes.

Henry Cavill, eat your heart out.

"Are you alright?" His lip quirked in a lopsided smile.

I glanced down at my bag dangling off my elbow, the bottom far from the floor.

Thank God.

Replacing a laptop in this day and age costs a fortune.

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