Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(23)

And I wanted to get to know Moses Richardson.

And maybe, just maybe, I should get what I wanted for a change.

“Brisket,” I forced out.

“That was my choice, sweetheart.”

Hmm.

“I gotta get back to my kids, but first, tell me how the men are annoying you,” he ordered. “Do I have to have a talk with Nightingale?”

I wondered briefly how that would go, and even briefly it was strong enough for me almost to say yes just to find out.

“Maybe we can save you gettin’ in his face for when he does something stupid. Like refusing to wear a vest when the mission calls for one,” I suggested.

“Does he do that?”

“He loves his wife, his family, wants to make his own one day, and isn’t a moron, so . . . no.”

That got me another chuckle before, “Okay then, I’ll let you handle the men and I’ll go handle my kids. I’ll text you my address. Six too early for you?”

If he lived anywhere in the Denver Metro area, a six o’clock date meant I had time to get home and get changed, refresh makeup and check my ’fro and deal with lift, or shrink, and moisture, depending on where the day took it.

And this was fantastic. I could now focus my Nordstrom shopping and not knock him dead with too much fabulousness (but still bring just enough fabulousness) since we were going to be at his house, not out on the town.

“Six works,” I replied.

“Right. Text you and call you tonight.”

Call me tonight?

When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “You got something on tonight?”

Only continuing to phone block all the Rock Chicks.

And maybe door block them if they descended en masse at my house, which could happen.

In fact, they were probably planning that right now.

Or ambushing me at the office.

“No,” I answered.

“You good with a call?” he pressed.

“I, uh . . .”

“Wanna get to know you, Shirleen. We don’t gotta talk until James Corden comes on, but phone talk is easier than across-a-table talk. Especially in the beginning.”

Boy, he had this date shit down.

“It is?”

“Yeah, baby,” he said, sounding like he was smiling. “Prove it to you tonight.”

“All right, good,” I replied quietly. “I’d like that.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Mm-hmm.”

A pause then, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry but I gotta go.”

Damn.

“Okay. Yes. Right. I’ll let you go.”

Another chuckle then, “Talk to you later, Shirleen.”

“You sure will, Moses.”

“Later, baby.”

“Later, uh . . . Moses.”

That got me another chuckle before he disconnected.

I stared at my phone after I took it from my ear, having the strange urge to hold it and what had just been coming from it to my chest.

Then I jumped so high, I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard, “So I don’t gotta kill my best friend for settin’ my aunt up with some asshole of a brother?”

I lifted my eyes to see my nephew and ex-partner in crime (literally), Darius Tucker, standing at my desk looking like he was trying to attempt X-ray vision as he scowled down at me.

Boy, the power of Moses Richardson was fierce. Darius could be silent as a cat but no one got in that room from either door without me knowing.

Normally.

“Those boys tell you they set me up?” I asked.

“Nope,” he answered. “Monty told me. Thought it’d be best if shit went south, I was in the know so if some asshole fucked you over that Lee and the guys set you up with, I only had one reason to murder them, not two.”

“It went okay, son,” I said quietly.

“Just okay?” he asked irritably.

“No. It went real good. He seems like a decent man. So we’re having a movie night tomorrow.”

“You ever think Leon was a decent man?”

I pressed my lips together.

When Darius’s father was murdered, Leon had honed in for the kill, recruiting my nephew to groom him to be his right-hand man, using Darius’s grief that manifested as anger to drag him into a life that was not for him. A world he should have never known.

And by then, I was so cowed by my husband I had not saved my nephew from that nightmare.

We’d become partners after Leon had been killed.

In other words, I hadn’t saved my nephew from an ongoing nightmare.

“We got things we should hash out, Darius,” I said meaningfully.

“No we don’t,” he returned, as ever, catching his aunt’s meaning.

I lifted my chin. “We should have hashed them out ages ago.”

He shook his head. “No need. We were both drowning. Can’t save someone when you’ve got two lungs filled with water.”

“Son—”

I shut up when he leaned into a fist on my desk.

“You think you should have saved me. I think I should have saved you. And you know what, Aunt Shirleen?”

“What?” I whispered, staring into cold, dark, dead eyes that I hadn’t seen looking like that since the bad old days.