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My phone rings from inside the pocket of my sweatpants. I pull it out. It’s Bishop.

Callie glances at the screen. “Your asshole boss?”

“Don't call him that.”

“You called him that.”

“I'm allowed.”

“Why?”

“Because he's my asshole boss.”

She grins.

I answer and automatically start toward the other room.

Then I stop.

I look back at Callie. She's watching me, but she doesn't say anything.

Fuck.

I walk back to the stove and hit speaker. Her eyebrows raise.

“You're on speaker,” I tell him.

Silence.

“Why?”

“Callie's here.”

Another pause.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“It does today.”

“This is a bad idea,” Bishop warns.

My voice is gruff. “She has a right to know. It’s her cousin mixed up in this.”

And her.

I can tell from the silence that Bishop doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he starts speaking. “We found something.”

The easy atmosphere in the kitchen disappears.

“What?”

“A connection between Smoke's garage and Mercer's organization.”

Callie sets down the spatula. “What kind of connection?”

Bishop pauses. “A vehicle registered to one of Mercer's associates was serviced there about three months ago.”

“Who?”