Page 63 of Savage Prince
“I don’t know. I just ... thought I saw someone I knew.”
He glances in the rearview. “Guys in suits are your type now, I guess. Who would’ve guessed?”
My curiosity piqued, I spin around and look out the back window to see the man in the suit staring after the truck, even as he walks around the corner.
I don’t recognize him at all, but he looks like he’s seen me.
A chill washes over me.What the hell is going on?
“I was wrong. Never seen him in my life,” I say, turning around and directing my attention forward.
“Probably a good thing. Pretty sure that guy works for your boss’s husband.”
My gaze cuts to Elijah. “What? Which guy?”
“The guy in the suit.” Elijah shrugs. “I could be wrong. Might be a different guy. Guess that means you’re safe from all that shit-by-association, so it doesn’t really matter to you.”
Even though my mind is racing, trying to figure out what kind of connection my stranger could possibly have to Lachlan Mount, king of the criminal underworld, I still manage to mumble out a reply. “I stay as far out of it as I can. As in, it doesn’t exist for me.”
“I wondered why you didn’t call him and called me instead.”
It’s a valid question. “Rafe didn’t answer. You were my next thought. It’s not like I want to drag my problems to my boss’s doorstep when she’s just left on vacation.”
Elijah turns to look at me before he pulls onto a busier street. “Rafe didn’t answer you either? I thought it was just me he wasn’t taking calls from right now.”
For the second time in a few minutes, chills rack my body. “How many times have you tried to call him?”
“Enough to know that he’s really fucking radio silent this time. I figured he’d always answer your calls, no matter what.”
Concern for whatever my brother has gotten himself into floods my belly. “I always thought he would too.”
Chapter 27
Temperance
I’m in my Bronco, liberated from the warehouse I’m now going to pretend doesn’t exist, driving back to my apartment.
When I roll past the café, I slow down to only a few miles per hour. All the tables are full now, and not a single one of them holds a broad-shouldered man with tattoos and a piercing stare.
It’s not like I expected him to still be there, but part of me hoped he would be so I could finally get some answers. Like, what the hell he was doing so close to my apartment? Was he watching me?
When I find a rare open spot in front of my place, I park and climb out of the Bronco, taking care to lock the doors.
I don’t know how I got so lucky as to still have my sculpture in the back, untouched, but I did. Probably thanks to Elijah. If not for him, this thing would have been long gone.
It’s apparently the day for thanking him repeatedly.
He actually looked pretty uncomfortable when I told him that, at least until he told me he still expected me to deliver on a favor when he needed it, no questions asked. I don’t want to know what it’s going to be, but it’s not like I could have said no.
I head for the gate and unlock it. With the clang of the wrought iron behind me, I take a half-dozen steps and freeze when my gaze locks on the table in the courtyard.
There’s a newspaper on it. A newspaper I don’t remember seeing there when I left.
I rush to the back door of Harriet’s house and knock on the door.Maybe she came home and I didn’t know it?
I wait, but there’s no answer. I bang harder. “Harriet?”
Still no answer.
