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He shakes his head. I’m about to push a little harder when his eyes blow wide and lock somewhere over my shoulder. “Son of a bitch!” Strangely, this is not directed at me, and I whirl in place.
A man about my age strolls toward us, a smirk on his face that rivals mine. He’s impeccably dressed, his dark hair groomed to within an inch of its life. Probably a season ticketholder who recognizes us. I brace myself for the hockey talk and an autograph ask for his nephew.
Harper snarls, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Hello, Donovan,” the stranger says in a voice I might call smooth if it weren’t so oily. He’s got leading-man looks, but they feel like a malevolent mask. If he smiles, I’m convinced he’ll expose pointy vampire fangs.
This exchange has all my attention.
Harper charges toward him. “Grubbs! I’m going to wipe the sidewalk with you.”
I yank on my teammate’s arm and haul him backward. The name registers with a jolt, and I jab a thumb toward the object of Harper’s rage. “This guy is Grubbs? Jackie’s ex?”
“Yes,” Harper hisses between clenched teeth.
A fireball detonates inside me, and I give Harper a little shove backward. “That motherfucker is mine.”
“The fuck he is!” Harper grabs my shoulder and tries to spin me.
My voice is gravelly and tar-thick and holds every threat I feel toward Grubbs. “No. Fucking. Way.”
“He’s mine,” Harper argues.
“You can have what’s left of him after I’m done with his sorry ass.”
Grubbs holds up his hands in a placating gesture that makes me want to rip out his throat. “Now, gentlemen. Let’s calm down. You don’t want this getting blasted all over social media, do you?”
Harper pulls up. “What does that mean?”
“Means he’s recording us,” I grind out, never taking my eyes off the cocksucker who caused Jackie to lose her job, her home, her self-respect. To lose fucking everything. I salivate at the thought of getting a piece of this lowlife.
Harper gives Grubbs a dark death glare equal only to mine. “What do you want, Grubbs?”
Grubbs straightens the cuffs of his expensive suit jacket like he’s got all the damn time in the world. “Thought that would be obvious to a smart guy like you, but I’ll do you a favor and break it down.” Jesus, this guy is a real piece of work! “I want your luscious sister and the money she’s keeping from me, but I’ll settle for the dough. Judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing she forgot to tell you I’d be here to collect. So typical of her,” he tuts. “I’m also guessing you want me to disappear. That can be arranged.” He brightens, but it’s all show. “I’m a reasonable guy. Give me what she owes me, and I’ll disappear. You won’t hear from me again.” He turns his manic expression on me, and one side of his mouth curls in a sneer. “Or maybe her lover wants to ride to her rescue instead.”
Harper and I exchange a look, and I swear I can read his mind. He’s thinking that old adage “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” while simultaneously broadcasting every way he wants to make this guy bleed. I’m right there with him. Harper and I both take slow, synchronized steps toward Grubbs.
Two suits I don’t recognize hustle from the arena toward us. Great. We’re about to have a party when all I want to do is part Grubbs from his limbs and all twenty digits. But the new guys aren’t looking at us. They’re zeroing in on Grubbs.
“Mr. Grubbs?” says the stockier of the two as he pulls something from his coat pocket.
Grubbs turns, his expression morphing from amused to annoyed. “Yeah?”
“Are you Randall Grubbs?” stocky guy asks.
His buddy, who’s a taller version, moves to Grubbs’s other side. Grubbs gives the newcomer an imperious once-over. “I am he. What can I do for you?”
Stocky guy holds up a badge. “Detective Brian Hodge, Raleigh Police Department. Randall Grubbs, you’re under arrest for extortion and unauthorized practice of law.”
Hodge’s partner extracts a pair of cuffs, yanks Grubbs’s wrists behind him, and cuffs him before Grubbs can shout, “You can’t do this!” Each man grabs an arm, and Grubbs tries but fails to wrench himself from their hold. The entire time, he’s screaming about his rights and how he never got any money and all kinds of other crap I’m sure won’t work in his favor.
Harper and I stand side by side, stunned into stock-stillness as we watch the detectives haul Grubbs’s protesting ass to a dark blue unmarked sedan. I snap out of my fog long enough to take a picture with my phone as they’re maneuvering him into the back seat. When Harper gives me a quizzical look, I grin. “For Jackie.”
“For Jackie.” He grins right back and holds up his fist for a bump, which I give him. “Hey, uh, I owe you an apology.”
I don’t hide my surprise. “For what?”
He lifts his chin to where the detective’s car still sits. “I thought you were like that jerk-off. That’s why I didn’t like the idea of you with Jackie. I was wrong.”
