But a week ago, Dale Creedy hadn't stood in a dark parking lot and looked at me like I was something his friend had promised him.
I press my cheek against the pillow. "Okay."
His arm tightens around me and we sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
Rookie
Coffee at the club tastes different when you haven't slept.
Five in the morning. Same routine. Same pot, same grounds, same industrial machine I've been using every day since I started prospecting.
Except my knuckles are scraped from hitting the wall in my room after Saylor fell asleep, and the image of Dale Creedy smiling in a dark parking lot is burned into my retinas.
The pot brews. I lean against the counter and replay the confrontation frame by frame.
His smile. His palms up. The way he said "kid" like he thought I was fucking irrelevant.
The way he looked past me at Saylor with an expression I've seen on men before.
Men who believe the world owes them access to women. Men who hear a boundary and treat it like a suggestion.
He's going to come back. Not because he wants Saylor. Because he's been told she's his to collect, and men like Creedy don't leave without what they came for.
The pot finishes. I pour the first mug and carry it to Ruger's office door.
Knock once and set it on the ledge.
The door opens before I make it three steps.
Ruger's voice is rough with sleep. "Kid." He picks up the mug and takes a long pull. "You look like you haven't slept."
I stop walking and turn. "I haven't."
He leans against the doorframe, studying me over the rim. Not casual. Assessing.
His chin lifts an inch. "Something happen?"
I run my tongue over my teeth. "Creedy showed up at Backroads last night. Parking lot. After close."
Ruger's expression doesn't change, but his knuckles whiten around the ceramic.
"He was there when Saylor came out." My jaw flexes. "Waiting for her in the dark. Beats was inside and didn't see him. I was twenty feet away, and he still got to her first."
Ruger takes another slow pull. Processing. Deciding how much of his reaction to show.
He sets the mug on the ledge. "She hurt?"
"No." The word scrapes on its way out. "He didn't touch her. He came out from between the dumpster and the building, where there was no light. Used her father's name like a goddamn password."
The hallway is empty. Dawn light filtering through the window at the far end, gray and thin.
Ruger pushes off the doorframe. "Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. I'll get Bloodhound."
When I get to the kitchen, no one is speaking.
Bloodhound is at the counter, leaning against the sink with the casual stillness of a man who's never in a hurry but never late.