Gypsy king

This wasn’t about Dash. This was about facts. This was about Amina and finding her killer.

Dash was so certain of his father’s i

How would Dash react if Draven was, in truth, the murderer? My stomach knotted at the idea of Dash’s heart breaking.

Damn it.

I cared.

Logging out of our archive system, I jotted down a few more notes in my notepad. As I’d been searching for information on Chrissy Slater, I’d come across most of the articles I’d read before on the Tin Gypsies.

It was interesting reading them again, this time knowing more about their history. The stories were all superficial, which hadn’t come as a shock. Unless one of the club members betrayed their secrecy, no one from the outside would ever know the truth.

But I knew.

Even shallow news articles fell into place with what Dash had told me last night. Maybe he really had told me the truth.

Maybe it was a test to see if I’d betray him. I wouldn’t. He’d get to keep his secrets. I’d take them all to the grave because I’d given him my word.

Unless.

Unless he deceived me. Then I would do exactly as promised. I’d tell the world every sordid detail and he could rot.

Last night when I’d arrived home, I’d spent hours writing up everything he’d told me. All of the information was safe on my computer and backed up to an encrypted cloud file.

If anything happened to me, Dad would get access to that cloud drive per my will.

My brain was overloaded with information and I dropped my head into my hands, massaging my temples. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything Dash had told me.

Was it strange that I believed him? That I believed every word?

Why? Because we’d had sex? I should have been able to maintain my distance. But the arrogant bastard had snuck his way under my skin. I couldn’t write him off completely, even after the stunt he’d pulled at the high school.

I groaned. God, I was pathetic.

“What’s wrong?”

I sat up straight, spi

“Hmm. I thought you might be upset because you have to go to court in an hour.”

“You heard?” I winced. I hadn’t pla

“You’re not the only one who talks to Marcus Wagner on a regular basis.” Dad shook his head, the same slow shake he’d given me growing up whenever I’d disappointed him. That disappointment was ten times worse than any spanking I’d ever received from Mom’s wooden spoon. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” I admitted. “It was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Does Mom know?”

He shot me a look that said what do you think? My parents didn’t believe in keeping things from one another, especially when it came to their only daughter.

“Damn it.”

“Be ready for an ass chewing.” While Dad was the one to give me the disappointed look—it was his specialty—he’d always left the lectures to Mom because those were hers. “What’s happening on the murder investigation? What can I expect for the paper on Sunday?”

“Right now, it won’t be much. The police haven’t released anything new.”

“And what have you found?”

“Nothing solid. Yet.” As soon as I had a story to tell, Dad would be the first to know. “I’d better get to the courthouse. I don’t want to be late.”

He chuckled. “Tell Judge Harvey I said hello.”

I did not tell the judge hello. Instead, I stood in front of him and received a lecture that put thirty-five years’ worth of Mom’s lectures to utter shame.

Luckily, the lecture about my responsibility as an adult and member of the press was the worst of it. Judge Harvey made me swear to always obey school hours and ask for permission before entering a library, to which I promptly agreed. My punishment for trespassing at the high school was time served—plus the lecture. It was arguably the worse of the two.

Wiped and ready for an evening alone, I didn’t go back to work after leaving the courthouse. I swung by the grocery store and bought ingredients to make homemade enchiladas. Then I skipped the gym and went home.

I’d just convinced myself to double the cheese in my enchilada recipe—screw the calories, I needed cheese—when I turned onto my street. All thoughts of di

Its owner was sitting on my porch.

I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car. Then I loaded up my arms with the grocery bags and walked to the front door. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s in the bags?”

“Di

“Enough for two?” Dash stood and took the plastic sacks from my hands, his biceps flexing. The bags weren’t heavy but a lickable vein popped on his forearm, making my mouth water.

Pathetic. I was pathetic.

Sex with him two nights ago had turned me into a hormonal mess. I was achy. Squirmy. I couldn’t stop thinking about those long fingers digging into my curves. Those soft lips on my bare skin. And his eyes, those vibrant hazel eyes that saw way beneath the surface. I couldn’t be around him and not think about what had happened in the garage. Had I not been so furious with him last night, that ride on his motorcycle would have brought me close to an orgasm.

“Did you just invite yourself over for di

“What are you making?”

“Enchiladas with extra cheese.”

“Then yes, I did.” He trailed behind me into the kitchen, depositing the bags on the counter. As I put the groceries away, he showed himself around my living room. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here? Besides encroaching on my meal.”

“You said something I didn’t like last night.”

“Really?” I tossed a bag of shredded cheese onto the counter. “And what was that?”

“You said, ‘Fucked. Singular. Past tense.’”

“I did.” Impressive he remembered it word for word. “Your point?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“Too bad. I don’t like you.”

“Huh.” He stared out the window from the living room for a long moment, his hands planted on his hips. Then he gave the glass a single nod, turned and stalked my way. The temperature in the kitchen went up twenty degrees as he approached. He didn’t stop walking until he was right there, the heat from his chest hitting mine like a wave. His hands framed my face with those rough, calloused palms. “Grammar isn’t my thing.”

“No?” My breath hitched as his mouth dropped to hover above mine. “I love grammar.”

Dash’s breath whispered against my lips. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” The proximity to him made my brain short-circuit.

“Singular.” He placed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Because we were explosive in that garage. Aren’t you a little curious what we’d be like in a bedroom?”

“No,” I lied.

I wanted to say yes, but my pride was on the line here. My heart. He’d treated me horribly after the hookup in the garage. But it was only sex, right? Casual sex. It didn’t need to mean anything. Because I didn’t care.

I don’t care.

My body, on the other hand, cared a lot about having a decent, non-self-induced orgasm.

Screw it. Yes, I wanted to know what sex would be like in a bed. My hand stretched for the counter’s edge, bracing for Dash to take a deeper kiss. To let him. But a whoosh of air forced my eyes open as Dash spun away and sauntered out of the kitchen.