Page 12 of Trigger Happy

The woman smiles, and I think she’s going to say yes to that recycled garbage. I have to save her, so I say, “He’s married. High school sweetheart, four kids, and a schnoodle named Khaleesi.”

“Ugh. Gross.” She lifts her copper Moscow Mule cup and tosses it in his face. Lawton splutters. She thanks me, then grabs her purse and bolts.

I salute him with my mocktail. “You’re welcome.”

He spears me with a savage glare, wiping off the liquid dripping from his scruff. “Yeah, me and my imaginary schnoodle thank you.”

His tongue darts out to lick the ginger liquor off his fingers, and I look away. “Are you here to steal one of my marks again?” I ask. The blaring country music is so loud I don’t even have to lower my voice.

“No. I’m here for an intel job. Why are you here?”

Partner assignment.

Does the cosmos hate me?

I jerk back. “I have an intel job here.”

Now he’s the one lurching back. “Who?”

I nod to where Bobbi is lining up for a shot by the pool tables, with Arch hovering behind her. I need to know what hair supplement she uses, because her curtain of sunshine curls shine more than the polished saddles.

Lawton stuffs a toothpick in his mouth, gnawing hard. “Her? I’m here for the husband.”

Archibald? I mouth.

He nods.

My thoughts sputter. No. But of course he’s my partner. It looks like the universe does hate me. I knew I should have recycled more.

But why hire two people? Why not one person to stalk them both?

I shift my focus to the pool tables, ignoring the annoyance thrumming under my skin. Lawton follows my gaze, and we quickly turn into two professionals sizing up a job.

“What do you think they’re hiding?” he says, shoulder brushing mine. “My bet is someone’s cheating.”

I put more space between us. “She also has a ton of family money, so that could be motivation for blackmail.”

“You could do a lot with that kind of money,” he agrees. “Like buy a boat.”

“Or a yacht.” I glance up at him, expecting irritation or disinterest. Instead, he’s fully locked in on our targets as he analyzes them with the same focus as me. That’s new.

He smacks a hand on the bar counter. “Well, guess this means we’re partners, and here I actually convinced myself I didn’t need a shot of limoncello with my morning coffee.”

I can’t believe this is happening. “Did you conveniently forget that I hate you?”

“ ’Course not, and don’t you worry. I spend my mornings plotting your death over my lattes,” he says. “Same way you do with whatever boring double-shot Americano you drink.”

A current of surprise runs through me. “You remember my coffee order?” I blurt, wishing I could snatch back the question.

“How could I not? It’s black coffee.” He rolls his eyes. “And I remember a lot of things about you, Chastain. Like your favorite candle smell is Coastal Juniper—whatever the hell that is, you have to get at least thirty grams of protein at every meal or you self-implode, and you spend every Friday night alone, watching reruns of ancient TV shows ’cause your only friend is a fish.”

I stiffen, ignoring that last part. How does he remember all that? Or better yet, why? “This feels a lot like you’ve been secretly pining after me for years.”

A cold smirk lifts his lips as he stuffs a toothpick in his mouth. “If I were pining, it wouldn’t be a secret. This whole damn town would know how I feel, even the dead deer heads.”

His eye contact suddenly feels scorching. I refuse to squirm under his gaze, so I flick my hair over one shoulder. “How quaint. I’ll make sure to get you a megaphone so you can announce it.”

“Don’t bother. You’re nothing special. It’s my job to notice things, and we’ve crossed paths enough over the years that I’ve picked up on your quirks.”