Page 75 of Torched Spades
Movement near one of the front-facing windows draws my attention back to the here and now. As the front door opens, I grind my molars together, one hand clenched around the steering wheel, the other wrapped around the grip of my Glock. As the first step crosses the threshold, I curl my finger around the trigger and take aim.
Then I see the long blonde hair hanging in tattered strands and freeze.
Becca stands on the front porch dressed in an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that swallow her whole. They’re obviously men’s clothes.
His clothes.
My rage escalates as she wraps her arms around her chest and cocks her head in my direction. For a few tense seconds, I swear to fuck she’s looking right at me, but then that curtain of golden hair falls around her face as she lowers her chin and cocks it to the side.
That’s when I seehim.
JackfuckingLedger.
The son of a bitch is all smiles as he places a hand on her shoulder and guides her down the steps and onto the sidewalk. It takes every ounce of control I have not to kick the driver’s side door open and pistol-whip the motherfucker as I watch him lead her to his piece of shit sedan and usher her inside.
I don’t bother putting a few feet of distance between us. Throwing the car into drive, I slam on the gas and tailgate their fucking asses all the way back to Becca’s condo. My vision is a red fucking haze by the time she exits the sedan, shaking her head as Ledger attempts to follow suit.
Once she’s safely inside, I’m forced to make a split-second decision.
Confront Becca or confront Ledger.
Since I know Becca’s first patient arrives at eight a.m., steamrolling her right now wouldn’t benefit me. Her reputation is everything to her. Forcing her to tarnish it by missing an appointment would only end in silence.
Shifting the car into drive, I pull into traffic behind Ledger’s sedan, his words from the diner rolling through my head.
“Tell me this patient you’re having feelings for isn’t Malone.”
Becca never gave him an answer.
But I will.
* * *
After following Ledger from Becca’s condo, I’m still pissed off. I expected thestronzoto go back to his house and bask in his conquest. However, instead of hopping his ass back on I-195 and heading across the river, he drove straight to the hub of all evil.
The fucking Providence Police Department.
Either the detective is a compulsive workaholic, or he knew he was being hunted. Since I wasn’t about to give George Reese any more ammunition against me, I begrudgingly left the precinct and headed to the docks.
Giving Ledger time to think.
To question.
To fear.
Unfortunately, the moment I got home from my shift today and Becca’s certified fucking referral letter arrived via courier, all the thinking and questioning came from me.
She completely disobeyed me.
Not only that, but she did it with a fucking formal letter.
Tossing the letter and envelope onto the passenger’s seat, I throw the car into reverse and peal out of the driveway with the Devil in my veins. By the time I hit the main road, my phone is in my hand, and I’m already dialing.
“Johnny,” Owen answers flatly. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”
“You still at your office?”
“Just getting ready to leave.”
