Page 95 of Parting Shot

“Well, at least that will be new.”

And for no good reason, I kissed his cheek. His hand covered where my lips had been when I leaned back.

“What?”

“You’re a very demonstrative man, Detective.”

“Not really. You bring it out in me.”

His eyes clouded fast.

“Oh, wrong thing to say?”

“No.” His voice dropped low. “Best actually.”

I smiled at him.

The drive was ugly, a lot of brown until we were outside of Sedona. Red Rock Country was gorgeous, and I rolled down the window to smell the air and feel it on my face.

“Should we talk about anything?”

It had been a long, silent car ride, the two of us in the back seat of the limousine together with a seat separating us. There were three seats facing us as well, the space able to accommodate six. It seemed somehow cavernous, but I suspected that had more to do with us being suddenly on shaky ground.

“I don’t think so,” I answered the stunning scenery instead of him. “We just have to get him to commit to one of us that we’re in, and then we set a time and place for the deal, outside his pleasure palace here, and we’ve got him.”

“Right, but we’re not going to be separated, are we?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, the fact of the matter is that he knows damn well he can’t do anything to you. If he’s gonna shoot someone in the head, three guesses who it will be.”

No response, so I figured what I’d said made sense to him.

“Duncan.”

I ignored him, which was a dick move.

“Duncan,” he said, sharper the second time.

Twisting in my seat, I realized he was furious. “What’s with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Could it be that you’re so fucking nonchalant about your life?! About your safety?! You think that’s funny?” His voice rose.

“It’s the job,” I explained. “This is what undercover is. I’ve done this many times. Last time out, I got the shit beat out of me, I got shot—it happens. I mean, we’re not actually on vacation, right? There’s the potential for this to go extremely bad. Clay Wells is not connected to a drug cartel like my last job. He’s basically a rich trust-fund boy, playing at mid-level narcotics smuggler, but he had Evan Polley murdered—he’s not benign.”

“I grasp all that.”

“Then wrap your head around this, and remember that, come Monday, if I’m with you or not, you leave. You drive out of the resort. If I’m not there and Clay gives you an excuse—whatever that is, however thin, however crazy—you leave. That’s the deal. That’s what Special Agent Summers is banking on. You make her send a team in to extract you, the whole operation is compromised.” I stressed to him. “You know all this. You were briefed the same time I was.”

He nodded like he was thinking.

“So we should⁠—”

“Why are you so angry with me?” he let slip, and the sound, hurt and splintered, was startling. “What did I do?”

“What?”

“Don’t deflect,” he demanded, and I could see he was shaking. “Just tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing’s wrong.”