I’m about to take my first sip when my cell phone rings. I glance at the unfamiliar number.
“I don’t feel like being bothered.” Wiping my sudsy hand on a plush towel, I press ignore and place the phone on silent.
Just as I’m placing the glass to my lips, it rings again. Sighing, I reluctantly answer. “Hello?”
A man with an effeminate voice says, “Hi, am I speaking with the wife of Leith MacKenzie?”
“Yes.” I cock a brow.
“I’m a coworker of his. He’s been out since mid-last week. I was wondering—”
“No, he was out mid-last week.” I cut the stranger off, on guard. Though pondering why I’m sharing my husband’s business, I assert, “Leith returned at the beginning of this week. Whatever game you’re playing—”
Click.
“What the fuck is going on?” I mumble to myself. My thumb hovers over my husband’s contact. I think about how he pressed the away button on me. Setting my phone down, I take a deep breath and a deeper drink from my wine glass. My thoughts are all over the place as I try to relax. The water grows cold, and my wine glass empties. I step out, wrapping a bath sheet around me. I pace, unable to finish my afterbath rituals.
Investigator senses tingling, I open an app and press the Find my iPhone button. Seconds later, malice burns my core at the sight of Leith’s location.
Chapter 40
Leith
Calling Yates’bluff, I squeeze the trigger. In two quick steps, I’m back in the hallway. The littleshitethought he was so smart. The explosion radius in his bedroom isn’t that wide. I’ve been in more perilshite-faced during a bonfire on my clan land. A heat sucks into the hallway. The blast exerts less power than a string of M-80 fireworks. I’ll be surprised if my eyebrows singed off.
When I climb up from the ground, there’s nae burntnuggeton the bedroom floor.
“Feck!” I glance out the window. Yates is clambering up from the ground, ankle twisted. He skedaddles aff into the dark.
I start to take a shot. Yates weaves toward the street, garnering more attention. Working my way back through the apartment, I take another exit route.
* * *
Five minutes later,I’m easing into my car. Sirens sound in the distance as I place a hand over the deep graze along my side where a bullet almost got the better of me. Blood trickles along my ribs. With a huff, I determine that I should head to the home I once lived in.
I ring up Camdyn while shifting into gear. “Run me an update.”
“Everything’s good. The girls are sleeping.” His voice rings with excitement. “You got that motherfucker?”
With one hand on the steering wheel and the other over the wound, I snarl, “Nae. Slipped through my fingers. Lastfeckin’time, though. Keep my family safe for me, Cam.”
“I got you, bro.”
“This ends tonight.” I clip each word, then mash the end call button.
* * *
At the weehouse I bought for Chevelle and me, I decide that, after I clean myself up, it’s time to come clean to Chevelle. I’ll just tell her what I’ve been up to and that I’m gonna kill this one lad before we return to our vows. Simple enough. I remove my shirt, letting it fall along the scuffed wood floor in the hallway. I search the cupboards for a needle and thread. I dinna want to scare Chevelle while I resemble afeckin’ ned. I’ll take a quick shower, clean up, and then head home. Since I’m confident Yates is a one-lad circus, I doubt he’ll reach out to the cops. He probably found another rock to hide under. It would be nice if that rock overturned a couple of four-leaf clovers, and the greedy bastard just runs off with the money he’d filched from Phelps.
Though I’m determined to wash and sew myself up quickly, I decide another person watching my lasses is a good thing. I ring Firth.
While the water in these rusted pipes is getting hot, I wait for his answer.
“Firth, I need a favor,” I order, chewing on a Tylenol.
In a cool tone, he asks, “Wit?”
Clearly, he’s still not over the midges. “Head to my house. Right now.”