Page 29 of Dance of Devils
His eyes narrow. “Listen, motherfucker. You either buy, or you fuck off?—”
“I said I’m good, thanks.” I open my jacket slightly, flashing the grip of my gun. It doesn’t scare him—I don’t expect it to. But it does send a message that I’m not some douchebag tourist looking to score. I play in the big leagues.
“All right, all right, man,” he mutters, eyeing me.
“Here.” I pull four hundreds out of my clip and hand them to him. “I’mnotbuying whatever you’re selling. But I appreciate that I’m hampering your foot traffic. We good?”
He grins, pocketing the cash. “Shit. Stay as long as you like, buddy.”
“Appreciate it.” I open the door and step out, then hand him another hundred. “No one fucks with the car, either.”
He chuckles and nods his chin. “Mi casa es su casa, my man.”
Wonderful.
It turns out Brooklyn’s address is diagonally across the street from the building I parked in front of. So I head over and start scanning the buzzers for her name.
“Can I help you?”
I turn to see a pretty Latina woman in cutoff jean shorts and a hoodie eyeing me, a bag of groceries cradled in one arm, a keychain in the other hand, and a suspicious look on her face.
“Perhaps,” I say slowly. “Do you live here?”
Her suspicion level dials up to eleven.
“I’m looking for someone I believe also lives here,” I add. “Brooklyn Ellis?”
Her shoulders instantly relax a little. “Oh, sorry. Are you from the lawyer’s office?”
“I…yes,” I smile. “I am.”
Fuck.
I wasn’t quick enough on the draw with that, and this girl caught itinstantly.
“She’s not here right now,” she says, her hackles back up as she eyes me.
“I see. Well, maybe I’ll check back another time.”
“She’ll be out then, too,” she says promptly.
I hold back a grin. I like this girl.
“Thanks for your time, Miss…?”
“I don’t think so.”
This time, I allow the smile to reach my lips. “Fair enough.”
It would be so much easier if I just told her that I’m here on Zakharova Ballet business. But that’snottrue, and I don’t want Brooklyn knowing that I’m snooping around where she lives.
Fuck, I don’t even really know why I’m doing it in the first place.
I walk back across the street to my car, pretending to check my phone as I watch the girl in the reflection of my passenger window. She looks at my back for another few seconds before she unlocks the door and slips inside.
It’s not lost on me that she tugs the front door shut behind her, hard.
My drug-dealing new friend grins when I walk over to where he’s sitting on another stoop with a few buddies.
