Page 3 of Resurrection
Another cascade of hair-raising chills had Imogen shuddering.
“I’m totally fucking lost,” Jury said before pausing. “Wait. Wait a minute. Is this about?—”
“You should go,” the man said, interrupting Jury. “Call the number. Tell him a guy from Voodoo gave it to you and then give him your name. Got it?”
Imogen’s hands itched to pull out her phone.
“Wait just one damn minute?—”
Imogen grabbed Jury by the arm and squeezed. It was the universal sister signal toshut up. “Let’s go.”
“But—”
She tugged on Jury’s arm, still staring at him. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
She dragged Jury toward the door. Years of lugging around scuba gear made her stronger than her party-girl sister.
“Fine,” Jury said. “But I’m getting my damn tattoo after.”
Imogen glanced back one more time as Jury shoved the glass door open.
He watched her with a small smile from beneath that baseball cap as he leaned on the counter.
Goodness, he is handsome.
“Later,” he said with a lift of his chin as Imogen clutched the paper in her hand and forced herself to tear her gaze away.
As soon as her feet hit the sidewalk, she could only wonder,What in the world just happened?
With a glance at the phone number, she knew there was only one way to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
Jury tried to snatch the paper out of her hand, but Imogen had always been taller and therefore more skilled atkeep away.
“Hey! Give me that. I want to call.”
“How about we get to the car first, so we can put it on speaker and both listen?”
Jury jumped for the paper above her head one more time, and Imogen lifted it higher.
With a huff, Jury crossed her arms. “You’re so bossy. Still.”
“Try being the middle child and let me know how you end up. Come on,” she said as she pulled her keys from her purse.
They crossed the street to the parking spot they’d been lucky to get. With a tap of the remote button, the headlights of her 4Runner flashed—and Jury snatched the paper from her hand.
“Hey!”
“Try being the youngest sister and see how that works out.”
Jury took off to the car with the number in hand. Imogen half expected to see it go flying in a gust of breeze and end up on a bus windshield, headed across the Quarter. Thankfully, she was wrong. Jury was already dialing the phone number when Imogen opened the driver’s door.
As she climbed in and shut it, the phone rang. Imogen didn’t mean to hold her breath, but apparently, it was the natural side effect of calling an unknown number, given to you by a mysterious, gorgeous tattoo artist.
