whispered. Ivan raised his head and turned to look. Parker’s mouth was much closer to his than he expected, close enough that his warm breath tickled Ivan’s upper lip. He licked his lips, drawing Parker’s darkened gaze, and Ivan wondered if he could stop the inevitable head tilt as he angled for a kiss.
T HE sudden pounding on the door broke the mood as effectively as a gunshot. Parker pulled away, and Ivan sprang to his feet, reaching instinctively for his gun. Which was nowhere in the vicinity, much less on his body. Damn. Parker remained on the couch, stunned, his glance bouncing from Ivan to the door.
Although it was muffled enough that Ivan couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman, the “open this fucking door,” was quite clear. And the shouter was furious.
“Are you expecting someone?”
Parker shook his head before he stepped around Ivan and made for the door. Ivan grabbed his arm. “Wait up. They sound angry.”
“I can’t. I shouldn’t ignore them, should I?”
What planet had this kid been living on? When you started dipping your toes in the drug dealing pool, angry people were often accompanied by guns or knives. Parker was ready to open the door like there was a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses on the other side, wanting to talk about the state of his soul. Yet neither he nor Parker had a weapon of any sort.
“They’ll probably give up and go away.” Unless they decided to come back and shoot out the windows.
The door rattled again. “Ivan Bekker, you shithead. Get your ass out here.”
Parker raised a brow. “Seems to be for you.”
Yeah, but using his real name. He’d give anything for the reassuring weight of his Glock right about now. “Stay here.” It was the only protection he could provide, but Parker ignored the instruction as he moved in behind.
Ivan tugged on the doorknob, but as usual, it didn’t budge. He had to yank on it to open the humidity-swollen door, and it swung wide, leaving him completely unprotected and vulnerable to… “Trish?”
He should have recognized her voice right away, but he hadn’t been expecting her. Not here.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Ivan? Where the hell have you been? And who the hell is that?” Trish stabbed a finger over Ivan’s shoulder.
“Calm down.” His partner was pissed, and a sick feeling grabbed hold of his gut. How had she found him? Had he been wrong to believe she didn’t have anything to do with the mole in the department?
“Don’t you tell me to calm down. You can’t disappear like that, without—”
Ivan pushed her back with his body and shut the door behind him. She was going to blow his cover—if her presence meant it hadn’t been already. But he couldn’t see a trace of guile or murderous intent in her eyes. His gut said to trust her, and his head said he didn’t have any other choice.
“I’m not discussing this with you here. Not until you calm down.” Ivan pitched his voice loud and angry, but when Trish looked about ready to explode, he put a finger to her lips, hoping to silence her before she bit his finger or said anything more damaging.
“Play along. I’m Ivan Baker. You’re my ex-wife,” he whispered.
Trish’s eyes widened, her gaze flickering to the door behind him and back again.
“Amicable divorce?” she whispered back.
Ivan grunted. “Didn’t sound like it a minute ago. And no, you took me to the cleaners.”
An evil grin lit up her face. “Damned right.”
“Come on.” Ivan grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down to the sidewalk. “Pretend you’re pissed, and wave your arms and shit, but talk quietly, okay?”
Trish got up in his face, slipping into her role perfectly. “I am pissed at you. What the fuck are you doing, going AWOL while you’re under investigation? Surely you’re not shacking up with that guy already, are you?”
Shaking his finger in her face, Ivan replied, “I’m not AWOL. Sarge knows where I am. And I’m not
T HE sudden pounding on the door broke the mood as effectively as a gunshot. Parker pulled away, and Ivan sprang to his feet, reaching instinctively for his gun. Which was nowhere in the vicinity, much less on his body. Damn. Parker remained on the couch, stunned, his glance bouncing from Ivan to the door.
Although it was muffled enough that Ivan couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman, the “open this fucking door,” was quite clear. And the shouter was furious.
“Are you expecting someone?”
Parker shook his head before he stepped around Ivan and made for the door. Ivan grabbed his arm. “Wait up. They sound angry.”
“I can’t. I shouldn’t ignore them, should I?”
What planet had this kid been living on? When you started dipping your toes in the drug dealing pool, angry people were often accompanied by guns or knives. Parker was ready to open the door like there was a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses on the other side, wanting to talk about the state of his soul. Yet neither he nor Parker had a weapon of any sort.
“They’ll probably give up and go away.” Unless they decided to come back and shoot out the windows.
The door rattled again. “Ivan Bekker, you shithead. Get your ass out here.”
Parker raised a brow. “Seems to be for you.”
Yeah, but using his real name. He’d give anything for the reassuring weight of his Glock right about now. “Stay here.” It was the only protection he could provide, but Parker ignored the instruction as he moved in behind.
Ivan tugged on the doorknob, but as usual, it didn’t budge. He had to yank on it to open the humidity-swollen door, and it swung wide, leaving him completely unprotected and vulnerable to… “Trish?”
He should have recognized her voice right away, but he hadn’t been expecting her. Not here.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Ivan? Where the hell have you been? And who the hell is that?” Trish stabbed a finger over Ivan’s shoulder.
“Calm down.” His partner was pissed, and a sick feeling grabbed hold of his gut. How had she found him? Had he been wrong to believe she didn’t have anything to do with the mole in the department?
“Don’t you tell me to calm down. You can’t disappear like that, without—”
Ivan pushed her back with his body and shut the door behind him. She was going to blow his cover—if her presence meant it hadn’t been already. But he couldn’t see a trace of guile or murderous intent in her eyes. His gut said to trust her, and his head said he didn’t have any other choice.
“I’m not discussing this with you here. Not until you calm down.” Ivan pitched his voice loud and angry, but when Trish looked about ready to explode, he put a finger to her lips, hoping to silence her before she bit his finger or said anything more damaging.
“Play along. I’m Ivan Baker. You’re my ex-wife,” he whispered.
Trish’s eyes widened, her gaze flickering to the door behind him and back again.
“Amicable divorce?” she whispered back.
Ivan grunted. “Didn’t sound like it a minute ago. And no, you took me to the cleaners.”
An evil grin lit up her face. “Damned right.”
“Come on.” Ivan grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down to the sidewalk. “Pretend you’re pissed, and wave your arms and shit, but talk quietly, okay?”
Trish got up in his face, slipping into her role perfectly. “I am pissed at you. What the fuck are you doing, going AWOL while you’re under investigation? Surely you’re not shacking up with that guy already, are you?”
Shaking his finger in her face, Ivan replied, “I’m not AWOL. Sarge knows where I am. And I’m not
Similar Books
