Mint Juleps and Justice by Nancy Naigle

saying, “He was such a nice guy. I can’t believe he’d ever do something like that.”
    A belly laugh flooded the car at the thought. He waited another minute before turning down the street behind Hartman to look less conspicuous.
    Goto tugged on the neck of his T-shirt. Between the humidity and nerves, his shirt was soaked. The neckline hung. He swept the back of his hand across his forehead and began to slowly drive down the street.
    Steady.
    Don’t speed up or slow down.
    Head forward, only look with the eyes.
    Don’t want to get his attention .
    He crept down the street at the posted 15 mph.
    This neighborhood was known by the guys down at the pizza shop as the best tipping area. In fact, the guys had fought over the new lady who had moved in. They’d even given her the nickname Tipper. But he knew she was the one he’d met at the yoga studio that day.
    He drove past her house, but there was a green truck there he hadn’t seen before. Two doors down, parked on the street, Goto passed Mike parked along the curb.
    It nearly killed Goto not to look the man in the eye; his insides were screaming to react. This was the closest he’d been to him so far. His jaw ached, reminding him not to clench his teeth, but every muscle was taut being this close to his mark.
    Mike was watching someone.
    He was watching Mike watching someone.
    Not just anyone, though. He was watching the house he was familiar with. A good tipper. Brooke Justice.
    What were the odds?
    “It’s like she was tossed down on a silver platter just for me,” Goto cried out to the Jesus air freshener. “In the yoga studio, the same one from Hartman’s office yesterday, the one whose tips were keeping him afloat to execute his plan. Destiny. She was meant to be part of the plan.”
    Hot chick. Hot car. The guys in the pizza shop said she hadn’t lived there long. The tips were nice, but what he liked was how she answered the door with a warm smile, like he was doing her a favor.
    She smelled good too. Like honeysuckle, or something fresh like that. His mind connected to the scent, but then he breathed in a little too quick, swallowing his gum, choking on it.
    He still hadn’t figured out exactly what that plan was going to be, but now he was sure that Brooke Justice was going to have a pivotal role in it. Small world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    W hen Brooke got out of yoga class Monday night, she’d just opened her locker to go shower when her phone rang.
    She picked it up and glanced at the display—Mike Hartman’s number. “Hello?”
    “Hi Brooke. It’s Mike. We need to talk.”
    “Okay, I could stop by in the morning if you like.”
    “Actually, I was thinking more like now. I made some progress today, and I’d like to go over it with you and take care of a couple of things. Could you meet me over at your house?”
    “My house? Sure.” She pulled her clothes out of the locker and draped them over her arm. “I’m on my way.”
    Brooke threw her lock in the top of her handbag and headed out of the locker room. She spotted Jenny over by the smoothie bar with a group of new clients. She’d never miss her.
    Sweaty from the class, she yanked the ponytail holder from her hair and headed for home. Mike was sitting on the front porch when she got there.
    “I look a mess. Sorry. You caught me just after yoga.”
    “I think you look pretty.”
    Pretty? She ran her hand through her hair, feeling very conscious of her appearance.
    Mike stood. “Didn’t realize that stuff was so exerting though.”
    “Oh, you’d be surprised.” She walked up the steps. “Come on in.”
    He followed her inside. She let the dog outside, then went to the kitchen and came back out with two glasses of ice water. “So, what’s going on?”
    “I tracked down your ex today. He’s been busy.”
    She took a long sip of her drink. “What’s he done now?”
    “Quit his job, moved out of his apartment, switched to a burner phone. Even stopped by here.”
    “He was