Page 17 of No Lies No Promises

It could be his piercing blue eyes, full dark beard, or the lighter locks that fall into his face. Whatever, the bastard’s always been irresistible to the opposite sex.

“Hey. No kissing my girl.”

Lil leans into his ear. “Don’t mind him. Jeffy pushed a few buttons and maxed out Sean’s testosterone. We learned nothing because of Mister Neanderthal here.”

Our visitor, who’s been quiet up to now, grunts. “He’s right to be cautious. Pearson’s dangerous.”

Her eyes roll. “Oh perfect, another lifetime member of the caveman club.”

Dante chuckles as he raises his hand. “Guilty.”

“Enough with the coffee klatch. Dante, you wanted to talk. Let’s talk.” My tone might be a bit over the top. My stitches itch. They hurt too. I could use a nap.

My buddy's blue eyes home in on my thigh. “How’s the hole in your leg?”

“I’ll live. Didn’t hit any major arteries. Was that it, Mom? Can I go now?”

Laughing, my boss motions us into his office. “Come in and sit. I want your take on the fertilizer bomb incident.”

For the next hour, we regurgitate the mystery’s details. He asks excellent questions, but nothing new surfaces.

“…And you’re certain she said, ‘nondenominational holiday balls’?”

He can rephrase it all he likes. It doesn’t change what happened.

“She did.” Lilly bobs her chin.

Catching her eye, I nod. “We both heard it.”

New guy types into his phone, scrolls, then frowns. “Google says it’s not a thing.”

“I know.” Lillian stands, fists clenched, about to lose it. “We made it up. That’s what’s so weird. She had to have been in the bar with us, or she followed us.”

“Babe… Chill.” When I grasp her hand, she steps back.

“Don’t tell me to chill. This is your fault. Your… your…” Her hands curve in the air. “Sexual aura sucks in women like… like a black hole of male hormones.”

Okay, now that’s funny.

We all laugh as my girlfriend bows. “Thank you so much. I’ll send you a link to my daily podcast. Subscribe now for a discount.”

No point in continuing. Mason-Mace/new guy drops us back at our apartment.

Buddy, curled up on top of the fridge, blinks once, turns, and goes back to his nap.

Cat logic. If no one is feeding you, ignore them.

Lillian grabs a cola before plopping in a chair. “Does Dante own that whole warehouse?”

My shoulders lift and drop. “I guess. Why?”

“How does he afford it? I mean, I know he does investigative work, but he rescued us in Mexico in a helicopter at a moment’s notice. Now I learn he has a super-secret lair in Queens.”

“One of many,” I add, knowing it will spark her interest.

“No shit. Of how many?”

“Dozens.” I shrug. “He’s hired all the people fired by the current administration. CIA, FBI, NSA, SEALs. You name it…. Gonna share the pop?”