Page 21 of Last Shot

Max wasn’t going anywhere until she got that meeting with Giovanni. But she wasn’t going to tell Jett that. ‘Is Grey a “Taxi” too?’ She hoped the ditzy, clueless look could buy her some time.

‘Ha.’ Jett’s lips enclosed around a wedge of mandarin. ‘He’s far too valuable to be a Taxi.’

‘Valuable? What is he – an antique vase?’ The doorlookedlocked. But she wouldn’t know unless she tried it. Should she risk letting Jett in on the murder plot too?

No. Too many people knew already.

‘He knows the family,’ Jett elaborated. ‘He grew up here.’

‘Don’t see how that makes him any more important than the emus that also grew up here.’

‘He worked on the property with his dad, before the army.’

She rubbed her upper arms at the phantom memory of the lock he’d tried to contort her into. Should have known. Just from the chest and arms alone. Which she was not thinking about. At all. ‘He’s military?’

‘Was. Don’t ask him about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Jett looked at her accusingly, like she’d tricked him into saying it.

She’d been right. Her hands were clammy and her throat bone dry. A loyal, muscular servant of the Barbaranis who’d basically grown up with them, learnt the family ways, and probably all the family secrets. Military trained. Job description vaguely undetermined.

Grey was their hitman. The Barbaranis’ version of Kaine Skinner – the very person she was determined to thwart.

And he was currently glaring at her through the window of his cottage.

7

Max

Max almost dropped the lighter. Jett’s back was to Grey as he started chewing another protein bar, unaware of the tornado that was about to be unleashed. It only occurred to Max then that Grey had probably sent Jett to guard her. But the look the Fixer gave her as he shut the door quickly chased that thought away.

Her insides shook like he’d slammed it on her. ‘You told me to put on some clothes,’ she said as his glare singed through the stupid shirt.

His throat bobbed, jaw tightening. ‘You can’t wear that.’

‘For fuck’s sake. Why not?’ She tugged at the sleeves.

‘Stop.’ He held up a hand. She hated that she obliged. ‘Just ...’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. ‘Keep it on for now.’ He turned to Jett with the look guys often reserved for each other when a sports player missed some easy goal or an umpire made a treacherous call.What the fuck, man?

Except Max wasn’t a ball that had missed a hoop or an umpire who had called something out when it was clearly in. She was still a cop – no matter where she’d been the past six months – and these protein-fuelled airheads were going to listen to her.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, a housewife sweating over roast chicken while he sat and drank beers in the pub with his workmates.

‘I don’t recall giving you a time to expect me.’

‘Nice touch with the guard dog.’

‘Woof,’ Jett said, swinging a long leg over a stool Max would have needed a ladder to climb. He was obviously relaxed enough to sit now there was back-up.

‘Did you really think I was going to rob you?’ she asked.

‘What could I possibly have that a criminal would want to steal?’

She sucked in a breath. It felt like a punch even though she should have expected it as soon as she’d given him her name. She wondered if the top Google hit for Maxella Conrad was stillDIRTY COP GETS JUSTICE. ‘You looked me up?’ She said it in a flirty tone like he was a guy she’d been on a date with, but he saw right through it as a call to war.

‘You’re much prettier in your mugshot.’

Something heavy dropped in her abdomen. Her reply dried on her lips as he held her gaze. Had he actually seen her mugshot or was he just ...?

He’s insulting you. Get a grip.

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