“What did she say?”

Alice bit her lip. Obviously Hickson, or whoever had Cheryl, wanted to get to her, too. Why else would they have Cheryl call?

Maybe they’d only promised to have her call back to give them time to think through a plan. Perhaps to avoid having the call traced.

Could you trace a cell phone call? She didn’t know.

Please, please, she thought, let her bluff for more time be enough to keep Cheryl safe.

Reese caught her shoulders, turning her toward him. He’d shifted into cop mode. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he held himself even while naked in bed. “Alice? I need you to tell me everything. Right now.”

Dreading his reaction, she nodded. “About that tattoo business...I hate to say you were right....”

“Tell me.”

“I could be in trouble after all.”

* * *

ROWDY STOOD OUTSIDE a tattoo parlor, waiting as the morning fog dissipated. Oppressive heat already wafted from the blacktop. By noon the humidity would feel like a sauna.

Last night, he’d signed the final papers on the bar. It was his. He’d take ownership in a few more days. The current owner only needed a little time to clear out.

Owning property wasn’t new to him. He’d bought the apartment building his sister had used while hiding from murderers.

But that was for cover.

This would be his livelihood. A legit occupation. Roots. Stability. An honest living.

A fresh start.

Exhilarating and terrifying—he couldn’t wait to get started. He hadn’t yet told Dougie, the bartender, that he’d be replaced. He didn’t want anyone sabotaging things before he was settled in and supervising. And he didn’t want anyone giving Avery a hard time.

Avery. Every damn time he thought of her, he breathed harder. How f**ked up was that? He wanted her, sure. She was hot in a “play it cool” way. But he didn’t breathe hard over the thought of a woman. Ever.

At least, he hadn’t until Avery Mullins.

Now that he officially owned the place, would it be unethical to sleep with her? Not that she’d agreed, anyway.

Yet.

And not that he got all that hyped up over ethics. But he also didn’t want to do anything to cause problems at his own establishment.

Hands in his pockets, his head down but his eyes up, Rowdy strolled to a lamppost and took in the surrounding area. A light shone inside the tattoo parlor even though it wouldn’t open for hours. Interesting.

The other nearby establishments—cigarette shop, cash advance, alterations and a novelty store—remained locked up, dark inside and out.

He didn’t see a car near the tattoo place, but then maybe, like him, whoever was inside had parked down the street, out of sight.

Another light came on, this one in a back room. Rowdy badly wanted to go in, to check out things on his own. It’d be a piece of a cake. Locked doors rarely slowed him down. He could be in and out with no one the wiser.

But Reese had been clear about shit like that, and on the off chance he had the right place, he didn’t want to dick up any of the legalities.

There weren’t many cops he trusted, even fewer he’d assist. But Reese and Logan were different.

Good thing, since Logan would soon be his brother-in-law. He was starting to get used to that idea. Now, when he thought about it, it didn’t make his stomach roil or send ice down his spine.

He even enjoyed working with them. Having been a street rat most of his life, Rowdy blended in more easily than cops did. Using stealth for a reason other than mere survival made it somehow less caustic and more meaningful.

A few minutes later, a drunk staggered out of an alley and went to the liquor store. When he tried the door and it didn’t open, he dropped to sit on the front stoop. Half a minute later, he appeared to pass out, slumped against the door.

Shortly after that, two women parked in an alley near the alteration shop. They left the car but stood outside talking a moment. One smoked while the other laughed about a story.

Loitering, smiling at the women when they looked him over, Rowdy again surveyed the tattoo parlor. So far he’d checked on five in the area.

For reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, this one felt right.

And then...bingo. A man came out, and damned if he didn’t look like one of the men who’d shown up in that shitty little hotel shortly after Alice had vacated it.

Rowdy waited to see where the man would go—and he sensed someone approaching from his left.

He turned—and instead of a direct threat, he found a woman standing there, probably in her mid-twenties, light brown, shoulder-length hair, big blue eyes.

Doing what came naturally, Rowdy checked her out.

She looked killer in super-short shorts and high-heeled strappy sandals, with a skimpy halter that barely contained her br**sts. No tattoo, but a lot of earrings in one ear, and just enough makeup to look hot.

She smiled at him.

Rowdy looked her in the eye and smiled back.

“Now, don’t you look lonesome,” she purred as she touched one finger to his shoulder, trailing it down to his chest.

“Just waiting.”

“For what?”

He stared at her, saying nothing—which was exactly how he would have reacted regardless of what he was doing or why. He didn’t allow people to pry, ever, under any circumstances.

Undaunted, she gave a cute pout. “Maybe I could keep you company.”

Bold. He liked that, but in this neighborhood, he had to be careful. “You a hooker, honey?”