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“Turn around,” he orders playfully, his voice lower than usual.
I oblige immediately and kneel on all fours for him.
He grabs my hips and pulls me hard against him. “You’ve been a very bad girl, and you need to be taught a lesson, my little Liza.”
I giggle into the pillow.
When he finally enters me from behind, the angle steals my breath. Possessive. Dominant. A side of him I've never seen but crave more of already.
The worst is over. That's what I keep telling myself as I drive north to Portland, Dylan's phone wrapped in a McDonald's napkin like contraband.
Just need to hand it off. Get rid of the evidence. Let someone smarter handle the rest.
Raine texts me the address—a hipster café with exposed brick and too many succulents. I spot him immediately at a corner table, hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. He barely glances up when I slide into the chair across from him.
"You're a lifesaver." I pull the phone from my tote, still wrapped. "Seriously, Raine. Thank you."
He plucks it free, unwraps it like a Christmas present. "Are you kidding? This is the most exciting thing I've done all month. Anything to catch a scumbag, you know?" He turns the phone over, inspecting it. "Especially sex crimes. I've got my eye on the CIA, actually. Sex crimes division."
I bite back a smile. Of course he does.
He powers on the phone, squints at the screen. "Looks like an old phone. An 8." He snorts. "Guy's probably broke as fuck."
Heat creeps up my neck. I'm still rocking a hand-me-down iPhone 11 from Jenna. Broke as fuck might describe me, too.
"Can you still get into it?"
"Oh, yeah. I can work with it." He waves a dismissive hand, already pulling out a cable from his messenger bag. “I just can’t promise quick results. These things take time."
"How much time?"
He shrugs, plugging the phone into his laptop. "Depends. Could be a day. Could be a week. You can't rush genius, my friend."
I suppress an eye roll. There it is—the cocky streak I'd forgotten about. Raine was always like this. Brilliant, sure. But insufferable.
I'm suddenly very grateful I never slept with him back when we were both bartending at that dive in Northeast Portland. A friend had tried to set us up once, and I'd been tempted—he's not bad-looking, tall and lanky with bleached tips—but something always held me back.
Now I know what. The ego.
"Just… keep me posted, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah." He's absorbed in his laptop. "I'll text you when I've got something."
I stand, shouldering my tote. "Thanks again."
He doesn't look up. "Anytime, Liza. Anytime."
"Can I buy you a coffee?” I ask. "It's the least I can do."
He smiles. "Sure, and one of those ginger molasses cookies, please."
I smile. I guess I need to chat him up for a bit, catch up and all. I can't be all wham-bam-thank-you, Sir.
That would be rude.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The house is silent except for the soft creak of the old leather armchair beneath me. I'm curled up withNine Perfect Strangers, savoring the rare solitude. Kendra's at work—some admin job downtown—and Reeves is holding down the fort at the pool hall.
