Showdown in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #3)(14)

The blood rushed from Spider’s face. “You don’t think Sonny has anything to do with that little girl…Oh shit, you do. I ain’t got nothing to do with hurting kids, and I never would. I got some standards, even if you don’t believe it.”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open. If you come across anything out of the ordinary, then you give me a call. The phone’s unregistered, so no one will ever track it back to me.”

“Out of the ordinary?”

“Anything that’s not business as usual. And I mean anything. If Sonny wears a white suit or calls his mother on any day other than Sunday, I want to know.”

Spider nodded but still looked confused. Raissa could hardly blame him. The last time she’d seen Spider, he’d put a single bullet through her chest. Raissa had still threatened to kill him while she was standing there bleeding.

“Go on,” Raissa said and nodded toward the door. “I need to leave, and it’s probably better for you if we’re not seen together.” Spider jumped up as if he’d been shot, and Raissa realized she’d never removed the gun from his crotch. What a shame.

She slipped the gun back into her bag and had started to slide out of the booth when Zach Blanchard slid in beside her.

He gave her the once-over, and Raissa could feel a blush starting on her very-exposed chest. “Ms. Bordeaux,” he said with a smile. “That’s an interesting outfit for a psychic.”

“Well, psychics are rarely boring.”

“It was even more interesting when you threatened that man with castration by Glock.”

Shit!

“He owed me for a tarot reading.” She shrugged. “I have this thing about old debts.”

Zach raised his eyebrows. “I bet.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a ton of things to do.”

Zach studied her for a couple of seconds. “You know, I could haul you in for assault on that man.”

“Well, now, that would be your word against mine, and I’m not going to admit to being that close to Spider’s crotch any more than you’re going to admit looking at it.”

Zach blanched. “You really know how to hurt a man.” He glanced at her hands, then the empty table. “Barehanded, and there’s not a thing I can take with me to run a print. You’re sharp, but you’re not going to be able to avoid me forever.”

An idea flashed through Raissa’s mind, and before rational thought took over she ran her index finger along her lips, coating the tip with bright red lipstick. Zach’s eyes widened as he followed her finger along the sexy pout of her mouth and sweat began to form on his brow. She leaned close to him and rolled her finger on his cheek, leaving a perfect print.

She slipped up from the booth seat and perched on the edge of the table, looking down at him. Giving him a wink, she spun around on the table and slid her long legs onto the floor. She pulled her skirt down to a barely legal level and leaned over the booth, placing her lips next to his ear.

“When you come to question me later,” she whispered, “wear a uniform, and definitely bring handcuffs.”





Unable to speak, Zach watched Raissa walk out of the bar, her curves swaying with every step in the sexy, spiked heels. His body had responded to her in all inappropriate manners, especially considering he was on duty. Especially considering she was a suspect.

His face still tingled where she’d left her print, and he tried to block his mind from recalling the way she’d run that finger across her lips and the look in her eyes as she’d done it.

Too late.

He groaned and waved a hand at a waitress at the far end of the bar. What he wanted was a scotch. What he was going to settle for was a piece of Scotch tape to remove the fingerprint from his cheek. No way was he walking into the CSI unit sporting a lipstick print on his face. There were some things a man could never live down.

He wondered briefly where he’d stashed his old patrolman’s uniforms and if they still fit.

She’s a suspect.

He blew out a breath. The sooner he ran that print, the better. God forbid he came up with nothing, because he was certain his spare handcuffs were in his glove box.





Hank Henry pulled the business card from his pocket and checked the address once more. This was the place. He parked his truck and walked across the street to the construction site, scanning the workers for the owner, a guy named Chuck. He finally located the man on the side of the building and introduced himself.

Chuck gave him the once-over, then lit a cigarette. “Pauley says you do some damned fine cabinet work.”

Hank nodded. “I’m glad Pauley’s happy with his cabinets.”

“Pauley also said you do some damned fine drugs and some not-so-fine petty crimes.”

Hank gritted his teeth and counted to three. You have to expect this given your past. Don’t take the bait. “Well, sir, that would have been absolutely correct if you’d spoke to me a year ago.”

The foreman blew out a puff of smoke and squinted at Hank. “Got clean, huh? I can respect that.” He crushed out his cigarette on the side of the building and motioned Hank inside. “Place is gonna be some sort of clinic. Every room in the place is going to need cabinets, and they didn’t want those cheap white prefab jobs. Said it was ‘too clinical,’ whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. The place is a clinic, after all.”