I suck down another big pull of coffee, gathering my thoughts.
“We’re looking for intel on the Lockwood crime syndicate,” I say. “Specifically, we’re trying to track down the location of its head, Paisley Lockwood, daughter of former boss Kurt Lockwood. They’ve got a stranglehold on the regional drug market, and one of our locals got mixed up with them in some real ugly ways.”
“You’re talking about Felicity Randall and her father Morgan Randall. Predictable,” Fuchsia says absently, muttering to herself under her breath as she turns away. I can’t quite see what she’s doing, but the glow of a screen washes over her face, followed by the sound of rapid-fire typing.
I blink at her.
“How...how’d you know?”
“Oh, I had dossiers on everyone who’s ever set foot in that godforsaken little town. Another life,” she says like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Who is this woman? “Lockwood, hm? If I recall, they were the big hand behind that little drug ring that used to be in your backyard a few years ago. That gives me a good place to start.”
“What about Galentron?” Warren asks, scratching his beard. He’s been so silent up till now I almost forgot he was there. He’s intensely focused, watching Fuchsia like a hawk. “You can’t tell me the higher-ups weren’t into some heavy stuff. The Lockwoods run a lot of shit out of Washington, Oregon, even up in Vancouver. With the Galentron outfit up there...”
“Yes, yes, I’m already ahead of you, you don’t have to tell me,” she says impatiently, then frowns. “Hmm. It’s going to take me a bit to get an accurate bead on her location, however, I found something interesting.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “What’s that?”
She smirks. “You aren’t the only ones after her. Apparently, princess dearest lacks both her father’s subtlety and his business savvy, hiding his scummy dealings inside more legitimate organizations—and she’s been so brazen that the FBI has a significant reward out for information leading to her arrest. You boys have stumbled into something fun, haven’t you?”
Fun, no.
Interesting, yeah.
Because I can’t help but think that taking down Paisley Lockwood could kill two birds with one stone.
Remove the threat hanging over Felicity’s head.
Then make sure she’ll never want for anything again, without even having to dream of dipping into that tainted gold.
Clean reward money. Well-earned.
If it could save the girl I’ve fallen for, why not?
Why the hell wouldn’t I deliver her future—a life worth living—right on a golden platter?
We don’t linger long.
Everyone’s got their own lives to get back to—wives, kids, plus Eli’s waiting for me up at the big house with Ms. Wilma. Fuchsia said she’ll get in touch with us when she’s got more intel that’ll lead us to Paisley and let us get to her without getting ourselves killed.
So I guess it’s a waiting game.
I’m the last one out of Holt’s office, so I figure now’s a better time than never. I linger near the door, clearing my throat.
He glances up from shutting down his workstation, gold eyes watching me thoughtfully. “What’s up, man?”
“Well...” I sigh. “You remember that shit with me getting into a brawl at the gas station, right?”
“You think I could forget?” He grins, one-sided and rakish. Funny how both he and that Fuchsia woman have naturally mocking grins, but while hers is cold as steel, his is friendly, like he’s sharing some raunchy inside joke. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you throw a punch in all the years I’ve known you. Asshole must’ve really pissed you off.”
“...he’s actually an old friend,” I grind out. “Name’s Gavin Coakley.”
My gut sinks when I say it, even if it’s based on a terrible truth. He doesn’t need to know the whole story about the mine.
“Anyhow, he’s down on his luck. Looking for part-time work. He knows construction and he can handle the machinery. Used to work the mines with me back up in Alaska.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Holt says.
Crap.
“Yeah? No problem. I didn’t make him any promises—”
“I just mean it’s gonna be hard to find him a nickname when you’re both from Alaska. If you want him on the crew, consider it done.” Holt grins, folding his arms on the desk. “Give him my number. Have him call me to set up an interview. We could use the extra hands on the museum job if we want to get it done in time for the city council’s grand opening plans.”
Have I mentioned how sometimes Holt’s a bit of a bastard?
I can breathe a bit easier, at least, and I grin.
“Thanks, chief. I’ll let him know.”
I turn to leave, but Holt’s voice follows me. “Old friend, huh? Is that how you say hello to old friends where you’re from—socking ’em square in the face?”
I don’t know what to say to that.
So I don’t.
I’m just glad it’s one less loose end to take care of.
One less problem dangling over my head.
Speaking of the museum job, it’s a rough day laying the foundation, especially with so much weighing on my mind. So many unanswered questions floating around when all I can do is wait and see if Fuchsia Delaney lives up to the trust the guys put in her.
If I’m honest with myself, though, that’s not the whole reason for the day creeping along.
I want to see Fliss, dammit.
The second I’m clocked out and cleaned off, I’m right back at The Nest, helping her unload her station wagon after the other night. She’d packed it full of everything she’d used for that booth at the festival.
I’m impressed she hauls these huge sacks of beans around by herself.
They’re fairly hefty and weigh close to fifty pounds. I’ve got two tossed over my shoulder, bowing my back as I trudge inside.
I can’t help but stop just inside the threshold, caught as the light falls over Felicity and Eli, leaning together like they’re thick as thieves and smiling over something on Eli’s camera screen.
They’ve been like that all day.
Eli’s still in love with the café’s vibe, and she’s been adorably open to everything he wanted to try for his camera work. Shifting the furniture just so in front of a window or catching a shot of her working at the register framed through the filigree mounted high on one wall. He also snapped off plenty of shots from above as she stirred patterns into cappuccino froth.
Eli’s easy with her.
She’s sweet with him.
She’s also mighty encouraging, and I overhear her promising she’ll use his photos on the website and social media accounts she keeps for The Nest.
“You’ve gotta get on Instagram!” Eli says firmly. “That’s where people love seeing pictures of things. It’s like, a window for your whole brand.”
“I’ll see about signing up.” She giggles, leaning her arms on the bar. “What about putting a few up in the café itself? Your very first gallery exhibition.”