They turned toward me en masse. Garrett Swopes was a tall drink of water with mocha-colored skin and sparkling gray eyes. He also had incredible abs. Not that I was interested in him, but it was hard not to notice his abs when he answered his door shirtless all the time. That could be because I’m always showing up at his house in the middle of the night. Weird how I always needed him around four in the A.M.
He’d been in the middle of pulling on a bulletproof vest. This guy must be bad. It took a lot to get Swopes to wear Kevlar.
It took a moment for Javier to recognize me. He frowned and said something to Garrett, pointing toward me repeatedly. Garrett let him rant, nodded, then waved me to him. The third guy I didn’t know. He was at least part Asian and looked like he’d been in one too many bar brawls. But really, who needed all those teeth? It was overkill if you asked me.
I climbed out of Misery and sauntered over to them with a nonchalant smile.
“How did you know where we’d be?” Javier asked.
“I didn’t. I just knew where Swopes here would be and I need to talk to him. You are just a bonus.” I batted my lashes at him.
His brows snapped together. “You didn’t bring any C-4, did you?”
“Javier, you have to let that go. Let bygones be bygones.”
He pulled his sidearm and clicked off the safety. “I’ll show you bygones.”
“Now, now,” Garrett said, wrestling the gun from him. “Charley brings out the worst in all of us. It’s not her fault.”
“He’s right,” I said. “I have a condition.”
“See?” he said, consoling his boss—though truth be told, Garrett ran that business and was the reason it was so successful.
“We have a job to do, Swopes,” he said before stalking away.
I turned to Garrett, grateful that he had my back. I was growing on him. I could tell. I was a lot like mold that way. “I can help,” I said, offering my services.
Javier heard me and came stalking back. He’d planned on arguing with me, but he changed his mind about halfway back. I could see it in his expression. “Yeah,” he said, looking me up and down. “You can. Go up to apartment 504 in that building and knock on the door. Tell them Crystal sent you.”
Garrett chuckled under his breath and checked his weapon. His arms were all sinewy and muscly when he did it. God, I loved arms. “We can’t send her up there.”
“Sure you can,” I said. “I’m here to help out anyway I can, because that’s what friends do for each other. They help each other in times of crisis. They have each others’ backs.”
He lowered the gun and gave me his full attention. “All right, what’d you do now?”
“What?” I asked, appalled. “Me?”
“We doin’ this or not?” the third guy asked. “I have in-laws at my house. They’re trying to convince my wife that I’m no good. That she should leave me and go back to Puerto Rico with them. I have to get home before she realizes they have a point.”
I laughed and shrugged. “I would make a great distraction. Wait, Crystal isn’t a pimp, is she?”
“No idea,” Javier said. “But something like that would go a long way in erasing my memory.”
“So would tequila. But I’ll help. I’m ready. Send me in, boss.”
“I’m not your boss.”
I frowned at him.
“Okay,” Garrett said after Javier showed me a picture of Daniel, the guy they were apprehending, and told me exactly what to do. We were walking hand in hand to the apartment building, and deep down inside I prayed Reyes wouldn’t show up. The guy’s temper lately—well, always—was kind of iffy. “What do you need?”
I laughed again, trying to sell the star-crossed lovers bit as Javier and the bad husband took up position, flanking the building and readying to invade. “I need a million dollars, but from you, I need to know how far you’ve gotten with that book.”
“The prophecies?” he asked, surprised. “Dr. von Holstein is still working on the translations, but he’s had a couple of exciting breakthroughs.”
I had to force myself not to giggle every time he said the doctor’s name. It was just funny. I needed to name something von Holstein. Too bad I’d already named my couch. Maybe a chair. Or the saltshaker. I could name her Heifer von Holstein.
“Is that it?” he asked as we rounded the corner to the entrance.
“Not even. Is there anything about the Twelve in there?”
He slowed his stride, just barely, but enough for me to know I’d hit pay dirt. “There is, actually. Several stanzas center around the Twelve and their role in the shit storm to come.”