Bounty (Page 106)

“Crock-Pot,” I said.

“Right, it’s in my car,” she replied, pushing out of her chair. “I’ll be back,” she said to Krystal.

“We’ll be here,” Krys said softly, her head tipped down to Breanne.

Laurie and I exchanged a happy look. Then we went out to her SUV and she gave me her Crock-Pot. I thanked her, making a mental note to add that to my shopping list of things to get for home when I had a kitchen (or after the painting was done, since I could plug it in in the laundry room, now my makeshift kitchen).

I then texted Deke I was leaving Krys’s.

I went to the store, to Deke’s trailer, and I got an electric charge (not quite like his kisses, bites, teeth grazing, mouth-at-nipple pulling, etc., but still nice) when I opened the trailer with his key.

I texted Deke I made it.

I started the chicken in the Crock-Pot.

And then I texted Deke I was picking up sandwiches and that I’d be home soon.

* * * * *

Surprise of surprises, walking into my house seeing Deke in white coveralls with a mask that had wings over his face, heavy straps at the back of his head around his man-bun, and noting he was still outrageously hot.

Bigger surprise of surprises, I hadn’t paid a lot of attention when they were spraying the primer because I spent that time, to get out of the smell, in my bedroom or out on the deck. But it should have dawned on me spraying paint went lightning quick when they got it all done lickety-split last week.

So I stood inside my door, carrying bags of sandwiches, chips and La-La Land treats (the bruise under my eye wasn’t gone, but it was gone enough for me to use concealer successfully, so Sunny hadn’t so much as blinked at me—she and Shambles had just given me hugs and got me my treats while gabbling away like normal), my mind boggling because the whole downstairs was done, they were working upstairs and I hadn’t been gone three hours.

That said, most of the walls downstairs were windows.

Still.

When my mind finished boggling, taking in the soft latte color of my walls and how it warmed the whole space, I saw Deke at the edge of the landing, having pulled his mask down to his throat (also hot) staring down at me.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Are you a wizard?” I asked back, swaying out a bag to indicate the space.

Another cocky grin.

God, the man killed me.

“Lunch!” I shouted.

“Right on!” Bubba shouted back, also in coveralls, mask at his throat, but no offense to Bub, he didn’t make it hot.

“Bub, paper plates in the laundry room. Can you get ’em?” Deke asked as Bubba made his way off the ladder and Deke turned to follow him down.

“I can get them,” I said.

“I got ’em, darlin’,” Bubba replied and took off across the space.

I looked to Deke, having a weird feeling about Bubba’s exit, which seemed pre-planned.

He finished climbing down the ladder and I slowly approached him as he not-so-slowly approached me.

“Is everything cool?” I asked.

He stopped in front of me and ordered, “Give me a kiss, Jussy.”

I rolled up on my toes, he curled a hand around my jaw and we touched lips.

I rolled back and he didn’t take his hand away.

“Okay, uh…kinda freaking here, honey,” I whispered.

“Deck called.”

Oh shit.

“And?” I prompted.

“Bianca and Anton Rojas left on a flight at ten thirty yesterday morning bound for Costa Rica.”

“Oh shit,” I said out loud.

Deke kept the information flowing.

“Thing that’s sure was what freaked your girl Lacey’s old man, Anton Rojas, when you knew him, had a very illegal business.”

“Oh fuck,” I breathed.

“Slow, steady growth, the guy played it smart,” Deke shared. “When he got on radar with bigger fish who’d eat him whole, he made a wise decision that he didn’t want things to turn messy. He merged operations with a very big player and took a mid-level management position.”

“Tony,” I said disbelievingly, because I could kind of believe it, I also just couldn’t.

“Time in between, he worked his way up and he’s heavy now, Jussy. He’s also sharp. Everyone from the cops to the Feds know he’s neck deep in some serious shit but they got nothing to tie him to anything.”

“Right,” I muttered just for something to say, totally flipped out at all Deke was saying.

“Now, they still got nothin’,” Deke went on. “Those tickets were not bought yesterday morning. They were bought a week ago. Last Monday, precisely, the day after the shit went down with you.”

I nodded, thinking this was not a coincidence.

Deke kept going.

“Anton’s prints are in the system. Where they aren’t is anywhere in that apartment. Only thing places him there is an eye witness and he’s only one. No one else saw him or has ever seen him there.”

“Okay,” I said, again just for something to say because Deke stopped talking.

He started again.

“Sayin’ that, no one saw Caswell go in. No one heard shit. No shell casings left behind. No signs of struggle. No mess like someone was getting out in a hurry. No one saw either of them leave. And no one can place those two there when Caswell was done. Outside the witness, who did confirm it was Rojas he saw entering the apartment, they got nothing else to put him there. Cops haven’t approached Rojas’s people but they suspect, when they do, they’ll get alibis for him and Bianca. He lives closer to LAX. She could have spent the night at his place before they took off in the morning. Or someone could say that’s the way it was even if it wasn’t the way it was. And Bianca left clothes and other shit like she was coming back, just packing for vacation. Their tickets are return. They’re set to come back next Sunday.”