Page 4 of F*ck Steal Kill

Blinking, I broke the connection as the door closed, shaking my head to try to clear it. My lungs burned, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. Exhaling, I coughed as I tried to regain my equilibrium, swaying against the side of the elevator.

“Ooh, who was that?” Joy cooed, bouncing on her feet like a puppy.

“Who?” I feigned, turning to her with a blank face. She rolled her eyes, knowing me better than that.

“I’ll let you off the hook for now. But don’t think I didn’t notice that hot eye fucking.”

Scoffing, I leaned back against the wall to steady myself as the elevator rose, hoping for—and dreading—-the next time I saw him.

The challenging part, I didn’t know where he fell on my list, and that was the most frightening part of all.

CHAPTER 2

GRADY

The most enigmatic woman I’d ever seen just vanished right before my eyes. I blinked, hoping she’d reappear, but all that remained was the silver metallic of the elevator door.

“Anything?” the gruff voice in my ear asked, bringing me back to my mission.

Tilting my mediocre cup of coffee up, I scanned the hotel lobby for the millionth time in the past hour.

“No,” I grunted, meeting the dark eyes of one-third of my team. Quentin narrowed them, knowing I wasn’t sharing everything. His hard mouth slanted into a frown, his forehead creasing as he assessed me.

That was the advantage and disadvantage of working with the same two men for over five years. You knew each other inside and out, often not even needing to say what you were thinking. Which meant when you were trying to hide something, they were the first to know it.

“Later,” I mouthed, spinning and observing the middle-aged man with brown hair sitting at the bar. Nothing about him stood out. Simple clothes, basic looks, and often overlooked by the other guests. He fit the profile perfectly of the killer we’d been sent to track, but something about him didn’t make my gut kick in.

Sighing, I drained the last of my coffee and stood, tossing my paper cup into the trash. I headed toward the elevator, spotting the last of our team as he ducked around the corner. Maxwell’s dark head of hair was a mess, his fingers having run through it while he worked on his computer. His olive skin was visible beneath his geeky t-shirt, contrasting with my pressed button-down. A backpack rested on his shoulder, his laptop stowed away now that we’d vacated the lobby.

I gave a subtle nod as he stepped into the stairwell, entering the elevator as it arrived a second later. No one would ever expect the three of us to be a team considering we were as different as night and day. But it was part of why we worked well together, blending into the crowd around us.

The ride was quick, and I couldn’t help but glance both ways as I exited, hoping to spot a white-blonde beauty on the same floor. But the hallway was empty, sending my heart flutters back into my stomach. The door to the room next to mine clicked shut as I walked past, and knew Max had made it in.

Using my key, I stepped into the Viking suite I’d been placed in since it was adjoined to the room next door. Latching the chain, I double-locked the bar before heading to the connecting door. Walking through, I spotted Quentin stepping in and going through the same routine to secure the door as I had. Once he was finished, he joined Max and me further into the Alamo Saloon suite.

These fucking crazy themed rooms.

“What do you have to report?” I asked my team, leaning against the dresser and crossing my arms. I didn’t make any small talk, nor did they expect it from me. My focus was completely on the job at hand.

Bullshit, my inner thought scoffed. But I ignored it.

Max pulled out his laptop and readied himself for any information we might have found to enter into the database. He looked up, waiting for someone to speak.

Quentin stared at me, not saying anything as he watched me with his arms crossed. He’d leaned against the wall, his all-black attire stood out against the wood walls of the saloon. He stayed radio-silent, waiting me out and putting pressure on me to share first.

Yeah, not happening, Q.

Snorting, I shared a look with Max, both of us hiding grins at how ridiculous he looked against the wall. I kept expecting a Sesame Street character to pop out from behind the wall and ask, “Which one of these is not like the other?”

“What?” he bellowed when he couldn’t stand being out of the loop and snickering any longer.

“Would you like a sarsaparilla?” I asked, quirking my brow as I kept a straight face.

Quentin scowled but moved away from the wall and leaned against the window instead. “Are you going to share with the group what caught your attention, Chief?”

Rolling my eyes at the nickname, I dropped my arms and clasped my hands in front of me, staring at the ground. I had to say something, or he’d never let it go. But the trick was saying just enough so he’d drop it and not ask follow-up questions. Unfortunately, the words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them.

“It was… just a woman.”

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