Page 79 of Big Mad
“Y’all after the Newlywed Neck Snatcher?” I raised my brow. The media had dropped that name on the news during our ride home.
He grinned.
I blinked, trying to read the sparks flying off his grin. “Texas, you’re … actually excited about this?” My question came out slowly, as if to convince myself that he wasn’t mentally unstable. Or … was the serial killer and not a fed.
As he poured himself another drink, I raised an eyebrow. “Bruhhh,pardon. You’re pumped because you get to stop a murderer, not because your FBI instincts make you a little murderous sometimes?” Which made sense. He’d always been calm. Too calm. When he wasn’t? Dude was sneaky or hostile.
After a moment, Texas posted up in his chair. “I done told you too much, lemme make this clear for you.”
Please don’t.
“I’ma be the fiancé of a certain fine honey. Special Agent Nalah Cameron is in the Behavior Analysis Unit. We met during training in Quantico. I’m waiting to see if she’ll join. Be my undercover bride. Me and mybébégot history, and this is the way to get her back on Team Tex. Momma would love that.”
“No! Momma would see through all the fakery. And you don’t want to force a woman to want you. Trust me.”
“Relax.”
That spark almost died. It seemedhistorymight be the key word here. “What if she dies, Tex?”
“Over my dead body!” He snatched the cognac off the surface of the coffee table, then stowed it in the cabinet. “Listen.” He looked at me, eyes hollow. “Aside from trying to make things right with Nalah, I need a chance. I’ve broken bread with too many criminals. I haven’t always made Momma proud. Besides, who wants to be a big lie their whole life, big brotha?”
I swallowed hard. That line hit different. “Don’t get in too deep, Tex.”
“Thanks.” He stood up. “It’s pushing seven. Construction starts early, and I can’t be late. It ain’t a good look, even if Isit around, eating and telling people what to do. Listen, I’ma be honest. Tell you something I shouldn’t.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Watch Maddy.”
My head tilted, I sat there staring at him.
“ACT.” He cleared his throat. “Our Art Crime Team is surveilling her connect, Omari Harris.”
“Harris? Dude’s name is Omari Riche.”
“That’s what y’all think.”
madison
. . .
Why had my internal clock, wired for artsy-fartsy stuff, awakened me so early? I rushed down the steps of my house in an old pantsuit I’d left in my closet. And socks, my sister’s socks, went the same direction as me.Down.
I left a message for my sister to the effect ofWho purchases ankle socks?
As I grabbed my car keys out of a glass bowl, I texted Washington.
ME: Yep. It’s early. I gotta create something that captures our time at the winery. Enjoy your golfing. Meet me at Glass & Sass around noon, or I’ll sign any deal where the money’s right .
Another message came in. My sister.
LYNN: You stole my socks again?
ME: Yes, and they’re ruining my afterglow.
LYNN: First, I bought you socks for your birthday. You chronic sock thief! Second, you got serviced . TMI. I’ma pull a Wash and have you arrested!
ME: Jokes on you. When the cops arrive, I’ll show them the socks. They’re gonna detain you. Sorry, sis.
Then I sent a pathetic sock meme. So as not to play into my sister’s GIF wars, I tapped the screen to disable notifications and entered a creative mindset. I’d learned this habit theburned-crispyway in a second-year class.
At Glass & Sass, I let myself into the cement structure with my badge and made a beeline for the classroom I was most comfortable in, at the far end of the hall. The usual instructors arrived later in the day, and since Omari and I had scheduled our meeting for noon, I had the entire place to myself.
