Page 93 of Fiona and the Fixer

“They’re the guys going onto your FUCKERS IN COAL SPRINGS list and–”

His voice faded away and was replaced with a vacuum turning on.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“What?” Hannah asked again. She came over, gripped my arms and gave me a little shake. “WHAT?”

I blinked, trying to understand what I just heard. What I knew about Dax. Why so much made sense.

“I… I have to go,” I told Hannah.

Dax was a fixer. Since I was in law enforcement, I knew that didn’t mean he fixed broken garbage disposals or replaced a transmission. He worked for people who didn’t want to get their hands dirty, specifically in illegal things. Took care of problems. Of people.

My mind started spinning. Had he shown up at the convenience store because he was following me? Was I a job from the get-go? Had he kept breaking into my house to keep an eye on me? God, did he get in my bed for the same reason? Every time I tried to slip away, there he was.

He carried a gun. Locks weren’t a hindrance. He was aloof. Mysterious.

Fuck. FUCK!

“Fiona, wait. Please,” Hannah cried, following me into the living room. “What’s happened? I can’t hear like you.”

I spun around and faced her. “Dax played me.”

Her brows drew down. “What do you mean?”

“I just heard him talking to Jack.” I tapped the side of my head. “They forgot I could hear them, or they figured they were out of range. Whatever. He’s been lying to me.”

“He’s not like that,” she assured me.

“He never told me he was a fixer. Never told me I was one of his jobs. Never told me anything.”

And I’d sat in his lap and blabbed and cried. Told him about my dad, about Neidermeyer and Trotter. About my mom. Told him I was afraid.

I sounded weak. So weak.

In return, he told me nothing. No, he mentioned his mom had been killed by a drunk driver. Was that even the truth?

He’d said he did repo work. REPO. I thought that meant repossessing a fancy corvette or furs or something.

I felt like an idiot. I felt… used.

“One of hisjobs?” Hannah asked.

I nodded, swiped at tears on my cheeks. God, I was turning into a sappy crier. “You knew he was a fixer?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Jack’s a former hitman and they worked together.”

Now my eyes really did pop out of my head. “WHAT?! You guys came back so Jack could help Daxfixme?”

“Dax did call Jack and told him we had to get back here,” she said.

“Because I was snooping around the pickle shop,” I explained.

A frown crinkled her forehead. “The Pickle Hole? The place across the street from the bookstore with the dick shaped cartoon character?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you snoop around there? The Fentanyl?”

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