Packing Heat(155)

I hated that I was in so much debt to him. I hated that I needed to rely on this handsome and cocky stranger. But there was no changing it.

Me and Travis, we were in this together, for better or for worse.





8





Travis





Hartley disappeared back into her bedroom after Hoyt left. I returned to my spot on the couch, realizing that I might be spending a lot of time on these cushions over the next few days.

I was in a fucking predicament. I wasn’t a lawman, but I was a SEAL. I was supposed to fight to protect my country. I wasn’t sure how I was meant to square that with my current task, but I couldn’t look too deeply into it.

At the end of the day, I was going to protect Hartley. All this bullshit between the mafia and the Caldwells was just a bunch of crap I had to deal with. They were going to get their weed and guns no matter what I did.

This just meant I was on my own. I couldn’t use any of the team’s resources, and I couldn’t call for backup. It was just Hartley and me in this, for better or for worse.

I knew Knoxville, and I knew these guys. I grew up with them, knew how they thought. I almost was one of them, if my life had gone down a different path. If my football superstar brother had survived, I might be in the Dixie Mafia right now, hassling girls just like Hartley.

Or maybe not. I never really got down with that sort of fucking thing. Still, I understood how these guys worked, and I knew I could make all this work out.

The Caldwells were the real problem. I knew Jane Caldwell, but I didn’t know her anymore. I didn’t know her family business or how much strength they had. As far as I could tell, I had no way of getting close to them, or at least not yet.

I gave the girl a few minutes of privacy before getting up and knocking on her door.

“Come in,” she called out.

I pushed it open. She was laying on her bed, scrolling through her phone.

“We should go out.”

“Where?”

“I want to see an old friend.”

“Another old friend?” She frowned at me. “Not another mafia guy?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “His name is Toad.”

She laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Nah, or at least he used to be called Toad. Can’t say what he goes by now.”

“Why do we need to see a man named Toad?”

“As it happens, Toad has his ear to the underworld. We need to do a little reconnaissance around the Caldwells before we make any moves.”

“All right then,” she said, getting up. “One thing, though. Please keep me informed. No running off and doing things without me.”

I laughed. “Hartley, I’m going to be sleeping on your couch for the next couple weeks. You can keep tabs on me yourself if you want.”

She gaped at me for a second before getting herself together. “What do you mean, staying with me?”

“You heard the man. I’m meant to make sure you stay in town. That means we’re around each other all day long, every damn day.”

“No way,” she said. “No freaking way.”

“Sorry, girl. Those are the rules.”

She looked like she wanted to argue more, and I got a flash of that temper she had. But slowly that disappeared and she took a deep breath. I looked along her body, at her long, perfect legs, and imagined them wrapped around my face.

“Fine,” she said. “Okay. Let’s go see Toad.”

I smirked at her. “I knew you’d be excited to have me around.”

She didn’t say a word as she walked past me, and I let myself enjoy the view.



Toad lived with his family out on the edge of town, out near Markus. There were two distinct parts of Knoxville: downtown, where the richer people lived, and the hills. People with blue-collar jobs, or really no jobs at all, lived out in the hills. That was where the meth was worst, where the government regularly went to check if their dole checks were getting to the right people.

Toad came from an old family, a really old family. As far as I could tell, his family had been in Knoxville as long as Knoxville had been a thing. We drove down a long, winding road until we pulled up out front of the Toad family shack.

It was a rundown little house with a front porch wrapping around the front. Old broken-down cars, rotting firewood, trash, and other garbage littered the front lawn. I climbed out of the car and an old woman came to the front door.

“Who the heck are you?” she called out.

“Are you Mrs. Trap?”

“Yeah. That’s me. Who are you?”

“Hello, Mrs. Trap. I’m Travis Rock. I went to high school with your son.”

There was a pause, and then she flung the door open. “Travis Rock! My god!” She came out toward me, smiling big. Hartley was hanging over by the car still as I walked over to meet her.