Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Kaylie Hunter (books on motivation txt) 📖

“Their case,” I pointed to the suits, “is centered on the Jameson crew, right?”

“Yes,” Maggie answered before they could stop her.

“Then they can’t help me. The Jameson crew is too small and too stupid to be behind this.” I stood and started for the exit, but before I reached the handle the door flew open.

Bones, startled by the door, reached out and grabbed Ford by the throat.

“Let him go!” I said, grabbing Bones’ arm with both my hands and trying to pull his arm away. “He’s a cop!”

Bones flung his fingers apart, releasing Ford, and stepped back.

I placed my hand over Ford’s wrist, stopping him from pulling his gun. With the other hand, I pushed him on the shoulder until he walked backwards into the main room. “My fault. Bodyguards can be jumpy.”

Ford stopped throwing dagger eyes at Bones and looked at me. “Bodyguard. Shit. Sorry. I forgot. I was in a rush because I knew you’d want this.” He handed me a note with an address as he continued glancing over my shoulder at Bones. “DB just came in over the radio. Homeless woman. Matches the description of the BOLO you put out.”

Lydia, I thought. Damn. “What do we know?”

“Boys on the scene relayed that it looks like an overdose, but since everyone knows a homeless person was murdered in your building and staged as an OD, they sat on the scene. Nothing’s been touched.”

“Ford and I will go with you,” Quille said to me. “Lose your bodyguards.”

“Not your call,” Wild Card told him.

“But it is mine,” I said. “Head back to the mansion. Between Ford, Quille, and Beast, I’m almost confident that I can stay alive for a few hours.”

Bones snorted. Wild Card held out his rental keys.

I took them as I asked, “Why are you giving me these?”

“I wouldn’t want Beast’s claws to tear up the leather in the Mustang. Best to swap vehicles.” He smiled as he held his palm out.

I dug my keys out of my bag. “You get one scratch—”

“I won’t,” he said, cutting me off as he snagged the keys from my hand.

I muttered curses as I jogged to catch up with Quille and Ford. Beast happily barked, running beside me. “Yeah,” I said to Beast. “You better be happy. I just picked you over my Mustang. That’s just wrong.”

Chapter Thirty-One

KELSEY

Tuesday, 11:15 a.m.

We caught up with Trigger three blocks from the interstate exit, sitting curbside, tipping back a bottle of vodka. As we walked toward him, I looked around the neighborhood. The curbs were caked with shards of glass, cigarette butts, and other trash. Rundown cars were scattered down the block, parked in front of decaying buildings. Kids played on the sidewalk down the street, eyeing us with bad intentions. Two prostitutes leaned against a nearby building.

Ryan took the vodka from Trigger, setting the bottle aside.

I caught a whiff of Trigger and backtracked a few steps. “You smell horrid. Did you consider cleaning up before buying a bottle of booze?”

“Owner wouldn’t let me inside. The ladies,” he gestured to the prostitutes, “ran inside to buy the bottle. It was helping to dull my senses, so I didn’t choke on my own stench.”

I entered the dingy, dark bar. Two well-weathered customers sat on barstools at the far end. The bartender, an older man with hard lines etched into his face, was drying glasses behind the bar. A booth off to the side held a pair of shady-looking characters talking in low whispers. Ignoring the customers, I pulled cash from my bag and slapped it on the bar-top in front of the bartender.

“You must be a friend of the sewer rat,” the bartender said, nodding toward the front entrance. “He can’t come inside. I’d never get the smell out.”

“Not asking for you to let him in. But he could use a sidewalk shower. Sell us few buckets of soapy water?”

He used his finger to separate the twenty-dollar bills stacked in front of him. He restacked the cash and slid it into his pocket before nodding for me to follow him. At the other end of the bar, he led me into the kitchen where he grabbed two five-gallon buckets, lifting one to the slop sink and turning on the water. I grabbed a nearby bottle of dish soap, pouring in a third of the bottle.

The bartender returned to the main bar while I waited for the bucket to fill. When my phone rang, the display flashed a picture of Wild Card posing shirtless as he flexed his muscles. I wondered who he’d roped into helping steal my phone to take the picture. Probably one of the kids.

I shook my head, laughing, as I answered, “I thought you were with Charlie?”

“She made alternate arrangements. She doesn’t need us for a few hours. You have anything for us?”

“Nope. Maybe later tonight.”

“You still at the dentist office?”

“Nope. We’re at a bar.” I watched a cockroach the size of my hand scurry across the floor.

Wild Card chuckled. “Babe. It’s not even noon yet. Are things really that bad?”

“It’s been an interesting morning, but, no, things aren’t that bad. The only one drinking already is Trigger.” I turned off the water, but couldn’t lift the bucket with one hand. “I’ll explain later. We’ll be at the mansion in about an hour.”

I pushed the phone into my back pocket before using both hands to lift the bucket from the sink. After starting the next bucket, I grabbed a handful of trash bags and the dish soap, tucking them under my arm. I lifted the full bucket and shuffled mini steps toward the door with it between my feet. Before I reached the other side of the room, Ryan walked inside, rolled his eyes, took the bucket in one hand, and carried