Page 93 of Stealth Mission

“I swear if it’s my father, I might lose my grip on my mouth…”

“It’s not your father, sweetheart, I wish it was. He’s a jackass, but he wouldn’t be waving a gun in the middle of the street.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Deputy Dog, AKA Chief Willometa, is loud-talking on a landline phone in the corner office. Probably thinking I can’t understand that he’s bragging.About catching me.

He’s also staring at my fake ID, which is now lying on his desk. This goes on for a long time.

I’m not prone to sweating when I’m stressed, but I am. I’ll blame it on the pathetic air conditioner. Not the fact that I’m worried as hell about Marianna.

Right.

I’m twisted up inside over the brunette.

I keep looking at the door. Praying she stays out of this mess. And yet, I crave seeing her.

Shifting my ass, I try to ignore how hard the floor is and instead think about the mission and how all of this crazy shit links together. And the root of that is the car that Scout and I chased before I arrived in Karma.

I still haven’t told Chief Willometa that I suspect the car from the bank heist is related to our missing woman.

Or more like, I didn’t get a chance. The man was talking non-fucking-stop over everything I tried to say when he hauled my ass down the street in cuffs and tossed me into the cell.

I could have taken him. Easy.

He was puffing like a car on bad gas when he finally locked the cell.

But I wasn’t born yesterday.

Nope. I have to sit tight.

The phone rings on the man’s desk, snapping my attention back to him. I hadn’t even realized he was off the phone. As he picks it up, he glares across the small jail at me, but he lowers his voice this time, and I only catch snips of the conversation.

Something about money. Then one word he utters sends ice flushing through my veins.“Marianna.”

Fucking hell.

This is not good for her. She’s had enough trouble without my issues dragging her down.

Scrubbing both hands down my face, I lean my head back against the cinderblock wall.Fuck.

I need to stay away from her.

Thankfully, Scout is close by and can get my ass out of jail. I crane my neck to see the clock on the wall by the door. Any minute now…

Divine timing because the door swings open.

But it’s Marianna who bursts into the building like a charging bull.

This is not a big place. The Karma jail is made of exactly one cell. Two chairs by the front door. One small office with weirdly modern furniture. A weak air-conditioner. And a sad looking ceiling fan that wobbles.

So the electrical storm she brings with her charges the whole place.

I was afraid this might happen.

Her whiskey-brown eyes latch on me, softening with relief. “Thank, god. I was worried sick.”

With a shaking hand, she clutches her throat and exhales a relieved breath.