I moved my hands to Quinn’s shoulders and pressed a little more firmly than necessary. “I’m holding my powder for planning our wedding, Sweet Potato. I’ll show you my stamina.”
Quinn made a gurgling noise of mingled lust and annoyance that filled me with glee. Baiting him was too fun.
It was not my smoothest exit, but it worked, and after driving like a bat out of hell, I pulled into the lot at work and parked the truck.
I opened the door and pretended not to notice the old man sleeping at the desk in the reception area. Our temporary receptionist the past few weeks was ninety years old if he was a day, hard of hearing, and slightly narcoleptic.
Today, he wore a vintage army camouflage jacket with a yellow-and-purple kilt, which would ensure he blended in precisely nowhere. Most days, he only made it to around 11:00 a.m. before having to knock off for a siesta, but today, he hadn’t made it that long.
He was still better than most of the temps we’d had before him. Most of them hadn’t lasted a day with my crew of brilliant, overgrown-adolescent badasses.
“Morning, Herman.” I sorted through the pile of junk mail and flyers on the desk.
The man startled awake so hard, he jumped to his feet and gave me a jaunty salute. “Ready to mount the attack, sir!”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure which war he thought we were in currently, but it was good to know we were prepared.
“Good man. Any messages?”
“Nope.” Herman sat down heavily. “Plumber came by to fix the leaky faucet in the men’s room. Not sure what took him three hours or why he says he’s gotta come back with a part. Back in my day—”
I glanced down as my phone buzzed.
Quinn (Gorgeous, blue eyes, drinks Howling Turtles): If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want me to have your dog, asshole.
Herc. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out before looking up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
“Well, no need to use that kind of language, soldier,” Herman chided. “When the plumber comes back to finish the job, I’ll give him what for, don’t you worry. In the meantime, your boys were lookin’ for ya.”
“Right. Thanks.”
I pocketed my phone as I entered the big open-floor-plan office space we affectionately called the mosh pit. It was a high-ceilinged, white-walled room with wood floors and exposed beams, dotted with back-to-back workstations where many of my employees kept their permanent desks even when they were mostly away from the office on assignment.
All of them were empty.
On the far left wall were four doorways that led to the small kitchen, the bathroom, my office, and our server room. Along the back wall, separated from the rest of the office by a soundproof glass wall, was the space we called the war room. It was Hux’s domain, with enough monitors and high-tech gear to rival any spy movie and a giant conference table ringed with leather chairs. This was where I found several team members huddled around Hux while he worked.
“Boss,” Hux called when he saw me approach. “Perfect timing. Riggs just got here.”
Riggs gave me a firm you-can-count-on-me nod, clearly still trying his hardest to make up for the colossal fuckup back in Venezuela. “I learned so much about the Illuminati from Trixie that I might never sleep again, but I got you a name.”
“Cry me a river.” I leaned against Hux’s desk. “Why do I feel like your doctor boyfriend will make sure you sleep just fine, Riggsy?”
The others laughed while Riggs’s face morphed from hardened soldier to demented cow like it always did when he thought about Carter.
I rolled my eyes. “Well? Cough it up. We need to put together a dossier on this collector so we can come up with a plan to beg, borrow, or steal that Horn back.”
And then I had to go retrieve my dog.
For what would probably be the final time, given how pissed Quinn had seemed.
“That’s the best part.” Riggs beamed and turned his tablet to show me a copy of the man’s license. “You already know him. He’s gonna save you… save you thousands on the sticker price of your new car or truck.”
Ah, shit.
That was why Tommy Drakes had looked so familiar. He was the man with the car dealerships… and the really impressive abs for a man his age.
“So let’s buy the fucking thing back,” I said. “Make Tommy an offer that’s double the sticker price. He’s a businessman.”
“Way ahead of you, boss,” Riggs said eagerly. “I called Carter’s cousin Kev and had him check with his Horny friends—” He paused. “Er, the Hornies are a special online forum for people who are high rollers in Horn of Glory—”
I held up a hand and shook my head briefly. “I lived my whole life without knowing that, Riggs. I’d hoped to continue living a life where I didn’t know that.” I fucking hated puns, and I wasn’t shy about saying so.