Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(13)

“Yeah.” Zoelner shrugged. “Or it could be because Mr. Timberlands is somehow mixed up with Theo’s disappearance.” Just the thought had another chill snaking down her spine. She shivered, and Mac absently chafed her arm. “And speaking of,” Zoelner turned to her, “I don’t suppose you found your uncle’s old address book?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No address book. No files. Nothing that would tell us who Charlie is or where he lives.”

“All the more reason to find out just who the hell Mr. Timberlands is.”

“No argument here,” Mac agreed. “We can hack into the city surveillance cams back at headquarters. Maybe we got lucky and they caught an image that Ozzie can run against his facial recognition software. We can do that while we’re simultaneously searching phone records, military records, and anything else we can think of to find out just who this Charlie guy is and if it’s possible he has any connection to Mr. Timberlands. Is that all right with you?” Mac dipped his chin again, and there was that damn, tempting dimple.

For a moment, she was too distracted with having to curl her hands into fists lest she reach up to press the pad of her finger against the thing—something she’d been daydreaming about doing for years, and, oh, for heaven’s sake, Delilah, now’s not the time—to realize what he was asking. Then it sank in.

“You mean am I willing to let super-secret agents with contacts at the top tier of government take the lead on the investigation to find my uncle?” She made sure her expression adequately matched her scoffing tone. And, okay, so she couldn’t completely dispense with the sarcasm. “Uh, yeah. I think that’ll be all right with me.”

“Good then.” Mac nodded. “It’s a plan.”

A plan. She should feel elated. Unfortunately, she was too terrified for elation. Stepping out from under the comforting weight of his arm, a sticky warmth against her side had her glancing down. Pulling aside the edge of her lightweight riding jacket, she gasped when she saw bright red blood staining the bottom of her neon pink T-shirt.

“What?” She gulped, pressing her hand against the blood. Had her assailant somehow wounded her? Had the adrenaline kept her from feeling it? “What?” she croaked again, staring at the smear of red on her fingertips when she pulled her hand away.

“Don’t worry,” Mac told her. “It’s not yours.”

“Not my—?” She blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

“It’s mine.”

“Y-yours?” Her gaze shot down to his side.

Sure enough. A circle about the size of a Frisbee stained the black cotton of his T-shirt, making it appear shiny. And then she remembered.

The letter opener…

“Jesus Christ, Mac!” she yelped, rushing forward to lift his shirt. A deep gash about three inches long sliced through the perfection of his tan flank and leaked blood sluggishly.

“It’s nothing,” he told her, dragging down the hem of his shirt. “It’s only about half an inch deep. Not something to worry about.”

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted, all her anxiety and terror suddenly joined by twin helpings of dismay and guilt. She wasn’t usually a wilting lily when it came to the sight of blood, but knowing she’d wounded a man who’d only been trying to help her made her sick to her stomach. Literally. The stupid organ turned upside down and proceeded to disgorge acid up into her throat. “I-I stabbed you!”

“Eh.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “People get stabbed all the time.”

“In what universe?” she demanded incredulously. “Most folks I know get hangnails, not knife wounds!”

“Really?” Zoelner asked, reminding Delilah of his presence. She’d completely forgotten about him. Of course, who could blame her when every fiber of her being was focused on the fact that she’d freakin’ stabbed Mac. Holy shit! “Maybe that means we’re in the wrong business, Mac. Because I’ve seen plenty of stab wounds, but I can’t recall ever laying eyes on a hangnail.”

“Are you thinkin’ a change of career is in order?” Mac asked Zoelner, one corner of his mouth twitching.

Seriously? Seriously?

“That bump to my head must’ve been harder than I thought,” she declared. “Because you two can’t really be standing here joking about the fact that I stabbed Mac.” I mean, Jesus!

“I told you it’s nothin’,” Mac assured her. And before she could open her mouth to refute his statement a second time, he wrapped a hand around her bicep and started guiding her toward the front door. “Now, let’s get back to the shop so we can get Ozzie going on findin’ out who Mr. Timberlands is, and so Zoelner and I can get going on findin’ your uncle.”

Oh, yeah. Finding her uncle. And there was that. Sweet Mary and Joseph, will this god-awful day ever end?





Chapter Three


Black Knights Inc. Headquarters

“The prodigal sons have returned! And they’ve brought Delilah back with them!”

A cheer sounded from all those gathered in the dark courtyard located behind BKI’s warehouse facilities. And the raised beer bottles, lively music, fire crackling in the pit, not to mention the canoodling couples lounging in mismatched lawn furniture around the pit, were the whole reason Dagan Zoelner had quit the scene four hours earlier in order to hail the first cab to Red Delilah’s Biker Bar.