An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“You’re shaking,” said Sam, his flat voice not sounding nearly as concerned as when Stone had spoken those same words. “Maybe you need one of those pills you palmed earlier.”

My mouth dropped open. Reaching into my jeans pocket, I withdrew the Oxycodone and threw it at his chest.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked the pill and sucked it down with the last of his soda. “You could’ve slipped it into my drink. Once I’m down, you can finally play that recording I’ve been waiting for you to hand over. Pretty distracting helping that old lady upstairs. Guess you forgot about the device. Or maybe you planned to give it to the Prick who walked you home.”

So he’d been watching me from the window that day. Watching, spying, snooping. Without hesitating, I set the recorder on the nightstand next to his gun. Not playing the recording was my mistake. Now I’d never know what I’d risked my life for, but hiding away to hear his secrets seemed ignoble at best, especially if this was an official investigation. Still, I wouldn’t tolerate being labeled a traitor.

He rotated the device in his palm, eyeing me. “You didn’t play it.” His brows shot up. A laugh, then an incredulous smile. “Wow, you really didn’t play it. Lady, I don’t know what planet you’re from, but in my world—”

“There’s a safe in my office.” I waved toward the hall. “You can set the combination yourself, if that gives you peace. Lord knows you wouldn’t want us dishonest people messing with your stuff.” I grabbed the last of the food bags and retreated to the kitchen, where I sorted trash into recyclables and compost, anything to stay busy while I didn’t have a peaceful home to retreat to. The man irked me senseless.

From the other room, I could hear the evening news spouting that murder rates had fallen to an all-new low. “Yeah, right, lady. Lower than where, D.C.?” Sam’s cynicism echoed my own.

I leaned in the doorway, studying his every response, all two of them: cold stare and squinting disdain. Our local news anchor appeared, her brunette hair swept up in that Sarah Palin style, her face mimicking a look of dread as she elevated her voice for the next story. “Police officials have confirmed the apartment fire in Spanish Harlem was definitely the work of the East Harlem Arsonists.”

Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed, a fear response I’d seen on soldiers in battle. I handed him one of the two gin-and-tonics I’d whipped up for my nerves and noticed the gun and recorder were gone from the nightstand.

The anchor continued. “Firefighters found the remains of three bodies in the apartment. They have yet to be identified, but officials confirmed two men and one woman were discovered in the basement.”

Sam’s face washed white. “That wasn’t the plan,” he murmured.

“Four warehouses and three buildings have been hit in the last three months,” she said. “All seven structures were thought to be vacant, but authorities say squatters may account for today’s deaths, as the location had been known to attract prostitution, drug dealers, and vagrants.”