Confusing.

Twenty minutes later, Alice emerged alone. Sun glinted off her brown hair—had she done something with it? It looked different. Rowdy rubbed his chin, still on high alert.

She smiled as she slipped on sunglasses and—after checking the backseat of her car—unlocked it and got in.

Undecided for only a moment, Rowdy pulled out his cell phone and thumbed her number before she could leave the lot.

“Hello?”

She sounded breathy, probably on an adrenaline rush. He shook his head. “It’s Rowdy.”

“Rowdy?” And just like Alice, she asked, “Are you okay? Is anything wrong?”

All kinds of things were way wrong, but he’d save that for a face-to-face. “Go back into the bus station and wait for me there.”

“Go...” She twisted around in her seat. “Where are you?”

“I’m where I can keep eyes on you. Now hustle your ass back inside and stay put. I’ll be there in less than half an hour.”

Silence. Alice got out of her car, shielded her eyes from the sun and searched the area. “Did you watch me as I shopped with your sister?”

“Why?”

“I felt someone.”

Damn. For the second time in their short acquaintance, he wondered if he was slipping.

“Rowdy? Why are you following me?”

“Inside, hon. I’ll explain when I get there.”

Even from a distance, looking through field binoculars, Rowdy saw her frown. “I don’t like taking orders from you.”

“Would you rather take them from the police?” He saw her go still. “Maybe from Detective Reese Bareden?”

“That’s blackmail!”

“Whatever it takes.” He and Reese had a deal, so Rowdy would end up telling him, anyway. Whether Alice realized that yet or not, it was a moot point.

As he said, whatever it took.

Head down, she turned a stiff circle, probably scheming, trying to think up options.

“Make a decision, Alice.”

“Fine!” She relocked her car. Stride stiff, she marched toward the station entrance. “I’ll be inside.”

“Fine,” he repeated back to her, and damned if he didn’t have to fight a smile. “See you soon.” Rowdy disconnected the call, but watched until he saw Alice reenter. He waited a few seconds more to see if she’d come right back out.

She stayed put.

And good thing, because his gut told him to get back to that motel, to stake it out, so that’s what he did. Just as he’d observed Alice, he watched the motel—from a safe distance away, this time inside a condemned house, up on the second story.

The floor trembled under his feet, almost as if it’d give out any minute. But he’d been in worse places.

Hell, he’d lived in worse places.

He’d give it a few minutes, not long because he didn’t want to leave Alice unprotected. But if someone showed up, he didn’t want to miss it.

Every so often, he checked the perimeter. No way did he want to get caught spying on...whatever the hell she’d gotten into. Best to keep his guard up.

He was about to call it quits when a black SUV approached the dilapidated building. Two average-looking lowlifes went inside.

They wore jeans and printed T-shirts and both were armed.

One came right back out, scoping the area, cell phone in hand while he made an urgent call. Rowdy couldn’t hear from this distance, but he didn’t need to be a lip reader to pick up on the fury.

Finally the other two joined him. The one he hadn’t seen before rubbed at his wrists. He looked waxy from pain, walking unsteadily.

What did Alice do to him?

When the guy noticed the flat tire on his truck, he cursed a blue streak—until one of the other men grabbed his shirtfront, slammed him to the brick wall and apparently gave a credible threat.

Subdued, emanating menace, they all three climbed into the SUV. Rowdy read the plates, committed them to memory and lowered the binoculars.

Whatever had gone on here, it wasn’t good.

Alice, Alice, Alice.

Little Ms. Goody Two-shoes had put herself at the center of danger.

Now what?

* * *

THE PHONE SHATTERED when it landed against the wall. Those around the man jumped, sickening him with their weakness. “Get out.”

In a rush, they scattered, filing out the door like frightened mice. Idiots.

He strode across the floor to stare out a window. God, he hated it when his people f**ked up. Wasting precious time on discipline—or retaliation—meant he wasn’t utilizing that time to make money. If Hickson wasn’t so competent in other ways, he’d have him beaten to death and dumped in the river.

Instead, he had to find a way to drive home the seriousness of his error, to ensure such incompetence never happened again.

And he’d have to find the do-gooder broad, because no way in hell would he let her interference go unpunished. He showed no weakness, ever. He exhibited power, only power, and that’s what kept them all in line—and kept his profits rolling in.

Yes, the bitch would have to pay.

Maybe, just maybe, he could kill two birds with one stone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NECK MUSCLES TENSED, thankful that the questions were over—for now—Reese left the room. It was a follow-up interview, and he wouldn’t be surprised if a third came about.

It wasn’t every day that two detectives, their lieutenant, a supposed witness and deadly perps all ended up in a shoot-out at one of the detectives’ residences.