CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FLANNEL HOUSES
LUNA
Doing my hype dance washarder in a car.
Not impossible.
Just harder.
I cranked the music a little higher and danced away my nervous energy.
It was my first day of work at my fake job. Bartending and serving were already a lot harder than people assumed. Remembering who ordered what. What drink went on which tab. Who was next to be served. Who was ready to be cut off.
And doing that while impatient customers copped an attitude and oblivious sad sacks wanted your undivided attention like it was a therapy session.
For hours.
That was already a lot. Doing it while keeping one eye and one ear out for anything case or safety-related made it all harder. I just had to hope I didn’t blow it the first night.
Hence the nerves.
I was just starting to feel more confident as I belted out how chains and whips excited me—though they didn’t—when my song abruptly cut off and was replaced by ringing.
I glanced at my mounted phone to see it was an unknown number.
If a scammer somehow got this number to talk to me about my pending loan, we’ll need a new tech team.
I hit a button on the steering wheel to connect the call through the Bluetooth system. “Hello?”
“Check in time,Lo.”
Horror morphed my face. I bet it looked funny as hell, but I was too busy being horrified to care.
I’d been using the encrypted messaging app hidden deep in the phone to send my minimal updates to my captain. Each time, I’d expected a return text that called off my assignment or pushed me to be more aggressive to wrap things up. But he’d been happy—or at least seemed it—with how things were shaping up. As go-time approached, he’d said I would be hearing from my official handler.
I’d assumed I would get a message through the system.
Instead, I was forced to hear his voice. If I were a superstitious person, I would’ve taken it as a bad omen and pulled the plug on it all.
I scowled at the use of a nickname that used to be reserved for my family. “You’remy handler?”
And here I thought Captain Talbot liked me.
“I was the only one with availability and experience, so Cap begged me,” Murdoch said. “Lucky you.”
If I wasn’t driving, I would’ve hung my head back to curse my fate.
Giving him that little bit of snark had been a mistake. Murdoch was petty. More than that, he enjoyed being petty. He looked for any slight he could use against someone.
The only way to get under his skin was to refuse to let him under mine.
I took solace in the fact he wouldn’t do anything to risk my safety or the case. He was a dick, but he was also a good detective.
In a dickish way.
“Do you have anything for me?” I asked, keeping it cordial and professional.