Page 37 of Parting Shot

“On our way.”

I grunted and hung up.

“You sent them to bother the rich people, didn’t you?” Jimmy solicited from his desk across from mine.

I waggled my eyebrows.

“That’s a dick move.”

“Yep.”

“They’re just gonna crash up against the lawyer wall.”

“Probably. Let’s eat.”

“You’re buying,” he informed me.

“If I buy, I get to choose.”

“As long as we don’t have to go to that same hot dog—no.” He sounded serious. “I’m not twenty-two anymore. I can’t eat ground up—D! Are you listening to me?”

I wasn’t. Didn’t he get it? Bad cop food was part of the gig.

“What cops eat salads? Do you know any?”

“Do you have any idea what my cholester—D!”

But I was out the door before he could say anything else.

It was never easy. Nothing ever was.

My phone rang as I shoved a chili dog, piled high with sauerkraut, into my mouth. Jimmy was revolted and shook his head as I answered.

I made a sound of greeting since my mouth was full.

“Duncan.”

The voice sent a roll of heat through me that was surprising. How was I still having a reaction to the gravelly voice of Aaron Sutter? Why did my breath hitch, my stomach drop, and why on earth was my body flushing cold right after burning up with no problem at all? What the hell was with that?

“Aaron,” I managed to choke out.

“I need to speak to you.”

“About?”

He coughed. “Max called to tell me that your detectives were at his townhouse, wanting to talk to him.”

“And did they?”

“Yes.”

“And was he helpful?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay. I’m confused, then. Why the call?”

He cleared his throat. “I was annoyed that you hadn’t bothered to show up to speak to him when I learned you were the lead detective on the case.”