Page 171 of Bossy Hero

I wish the lighting had been better when he lowered his face to the window of my vehicle and told me his terms. It would have been nice to glimpse behind his eyes to see his motivations.

My pulse steadily increases the farther we proceed along the dirt road. The vehicle jostles us from side to side over the rough terrain.

After we careen through a particularly large pothole, I grab theoh shithandle to brace myself and shoot an annoyed side-eye at him.

He tucks his chin towards his chest and whispers, “This path doesn’t see much traffic.”

Well, that’s certainly ominous as fuck. Low in my stomach, the pulsating warning becomes more insistent.

The SUV comes to a jerky stop, and I lean forward to scan the area. About twenty feet ahead is what appears to be a caretaker’s shack.

Exactly the type of place I would take someone if I were about to kill them.

This is absolute fucking bullshit. All I wanted was a chance to talk to the chief man-to-man. The opportunity to look him in the eye and find out what’s up with his detective.

Of course that was too much to ask for someone with luck as shitty as mine.

Instead, I was hauled out to the middle of nowhere, to a ramshackle shed straight out of a B-rated slasher flick.

While studying him carefully, I wait for him to make the next move. I’m in no hurry to kick his ass.

Rather than addressing me, he whips his head to the sides and looks long and hard behind us. Once satisfied with whatever he sees or doesn’t see, he reaches for his door handle. Pausing there, he catches my attention and bounces his gaze toward the hut.

Reluctantly, I exit the SUV, keeping my head on a swivel as I trail behind him. The fact that he didn’t push me to lead the way relieves some of my concern. If I were with a hostile, I wouldn’t turn my back on them to give them a chance to escape or hit me from behind. Given his law enforcement background, I assume he’d take a similar approach. I’ll take this as a good sign.

Two feet ahead of me, Bigsby tugs a long string hanging from the ceiling. A single old-fashioned light bulb flickers to life, illuminating the interior of the shack in a yellow haze.

Keeping half my focus on him, I study the room. Dust motes flutter through the air, stirred around by our slight movements.

As I suspected, we’re in a one-room groundskeeper’s shed with floor-to-ceiling shelving filling three walls. The floor is littered with dirt, leaves, and the occasional twig that’s been tracked in from the surrounding forest. The faint smell of motor oil and gasoline permeates the air, likely from the chainsaws and other implements hanging from hooks on the lone shelf-less wall. Folding chairs lean against that same wall.

Bigsby commands my full attention, planting himself in front of me and bracing both hands on his hips. “When did you figure it out?”

“When did I figurewhatout?”

He opens his mouth to respond when the sound of a car crackling over the gravel road diverts both of our attention.

On instinct, I scurry to the side of the shed for cover. My right hand goes to the empty holster at the back of my belt.Shit. Fortunately, there are several tools I can use as weapons on the shelves.

“Easy, Lancaster. He’s with me.”

“Who is it?”

“My lead detective,” he answers, sending a chill down my spine.

I return to his side cautiously. “I thought we were going to talk.”

“Oh, we will. The things we’ll be discussing require total privacy.”

Patterson’s engine turns off, and the sound of his car door closing reaches my ears, followed by his footsteps crunching over the pine-needle-covered path.

“Anyone follow you?” Chief asks him.

“No,” Patterson answers, shifting his gaze to me. He pumps his eyebrows. “Nice to see you again, Big Al.”

It’s notniceto see him, so I won’t return the sentiment.

I dip my head, offering a single nod. “Patterson.”

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