and burned, porches sagged, and paint peeled. A drug deal went down at the far corner, and feral cats fought near an overturned garbage can across the pothole-riddled concrete.
Clouds hung low and dark as if the sun didn’t dare to enter the neighborhood.
He drove by the address Brigid had given him, peering for a good alleyway to hide his truck. “I’m not comfortable leaving my truck around here.” The tires and wheels would be gone in seconds.
Malcolm nodded from the passenger seat, sliding a clip into his gun. “We could just park at the street and make a run for the door in a shock and awe, but that’d give them time to grab weapons.” He angled his head and studied the dismal street. “Plus, how good is your intel? I’d rather not burst in on an elderly couple having a late breakfast.”
“No kidding,” Wolfe returned, still not sure about having Mal along for backup. Not that he’d invited Malcolm. The guy had seen Wolfe leaving and had jumped in the truck, somehow knowing Wolfe was going hunting. “The intel is from Brigid.”
“Then it’s good,” Mal said. “Though I’d still like to peek into the garage to see if it holds the truck you saw the other night.”
Yeah, double-checking was never a bad thing when guns were involved. He drove a mile out of the neighborhood and parked in the front of a gas station/mini mart, running inside to pay the kid behind the counter to watch his truck. Then he jogged back out as a slight rain began to fall.
Mal stood near the truck. “How much did you give him?”
“Fifty now and a hundred if my truck is in one piece when I get back.” Wolfe zipped up his sweatshirt to hide his gun and then pulled the hood over his head. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Mal looked dangerous in his dark hoodie with unnecessary sunglasses hiding his eyes, but he’d fit right in as they jogged back to the house.
Wolfe took off at a fast pace. “You didn’t have to come—I can handle this.”
“Right. These solo missions you’ve been doing are stupid.” Mal kept pace, his tone more thoughtful than sharp.
“Yeah, I know.” Wolfe had been trained well, and backup was always a necessary precaution. It felt good to have Mal along.
Mal hunched his shoulders and slid his hands into his pockets. “The other day you mentioned a job dealing with sex clubs.”
“No, the job is tracking down a guy who went to sex clubs. Now that he’s dead, I have to figure out who he was, who killed him, and why.” The club was just coincidental, and he certainly didn’t want to see Mal in leather pants, backing him up at a club party.
Malcolm’s gait slowed. “Did you really go to a sex club?”
Wolfe grinned. “Yeah. A BDSM one.”
“Huh.” They moved silently for a while as the rain increased in force.
“You ever been to one?” Wolfe asked, keeping the conversation going.
“Nope. I make no judgments, but I’m more of a private type of guy when it comes to romance.” Mal’s boots splashed water up from holes in the sidewalk.
Wolfe stepped over a pile of fast food wrappers. “Ditto.”
“Was Dana really there?” Mal chuckled.
“Yeah, and she was barely dressed. I stopped breathing for almost two seconds.” Which was a long time for Wolfe to forget to watch his six.
“So the two of you—”
“No.” Wolfe increased his pace. “Just friends.” Why was it when a guy found love, he assumed everyone else would, too? Some guys, like Mal, found that happiness. Guys like Wolfe did not.
Mal stiffened as the sound of yelling came from one of the homes. A woman screaming at a lazy, no-good bum. “Sometimes romance sneaks up on you.”
“Nothing sneaks up on me.” Wolfe slowed his pace near the correct house, keeping out of sight of the narrow front window that was caked with mud and bird poop. He moved to the side of the garage, barely squeezing in between the worn siding and a rough chain-link fence, and then cautiously approaching an oval-shaped window. Weeds made his boots and jeans wet. After wiping grime off the glass, a lot of it, he peered inside. Satisfaction ran through him faster than a good latte. “It’s the truck,” he whispered.
Mal slid his sunglasses up on his thick hair, his intelligent eyes piercing the haze. “You want front or back?”
“Front.” Wolfe slid out of the way to the front of the garage. “On ten?”
“Ten.” Mal sucked in air and inched by the fence to the backyard, his chest barely making it through the narrow path.
The neighborhood was quiet, and if anybody was watching through a window, they probably wouldn’t call the cops. Wolfe started counting in his head, keeping his back to the garage door and pulling his gun free of his jeans. He arrived at eight, ducked his head, and ran full bore at the front door, breaking it wide open with his right shoulder.
A half-dressed man jumped up from a torn sofa and Wolfe shoved him back down with one hand, his gun sweeping the room.
From the kitchen, Mal prodded another man in front of him toward the sofa. “Sit.” He then turned back and made quick work of the rest of the small house. “Clear,” he called out.
Wolfe smiled at the two staring defiantly up at him. The first guy was around thirty with dirty blond hair, bloodshot eyes, and open sores along his neck. The second was maybe around twenty-five years old, and was a tall guy with darker skin and a bruise on his cheekbone who had the shakes. Definitely needed a fix. “I’m going to ask this once. Why did you shoot at me?” Wolfe kept his gun pointed low, not wanting to freak them out too badly. Yet.
The blond sniffed and then shrugged. “No clue who you are.”
The other guy shook harder, his dreadlocks moving over his bony shoulders.
Mal returned to the room. “Drugs and guns in the back room. I put everything in this duffel.” He tossed a dirty duffel on the floor and decided to point his gun at the guys.
The shaky guy sat up, his gaze planted on the duffel. “You can’t take that.”
Wolfe sighed. “We can do pretty much anything we want.” These guys were pathetic. “Just tell me who hired you and who you meant to follow or shoot, and we’ll leave you and your drugs alone.” He was taking their guns, though. Anybody who shot at him deserved to lose their weapons. That seemed fair.
The blond guy looked over at his buddy.
Mal stepped forward, his expression pissed. “Listen. I have no patience for this shit. Talk now, or I’m going to start hitting people.”
Okay. Wolfe didn’t usually play good cop, but what the hell. “You guys want out of this? Believe me—talk and we’ll leave.”
Mal growled. “Let’s just kill them. They don’t know anything, and I’m hungry.”
“I saw
