Jake
There are moments in a man’s life when punching somebody feels less like violence and more like community service.
Watching Derek’s Mercedes disappear down my street was one of them.
I didn’t do it.
Mostly because Emma had asked me not to get involved unless she wanted me involved.
Partly because the camera would’ve caught everything.
And maybe five percent because Nash would’ve never let me forget how stupid it was.
“That’s definitely the receptionist?” Nash asked.
Emma was still tucked against my side, staring at his phone.
“Yes. Her name’s Linda. Or Lisa.” She frowned. “Something with an L.”
Raven appeared beside us. “Very helpful. We’ll arrest every woman beginning with L.”
Emma actually laughed.
Small.
Shaky.
But there.
“Lorraine,” she said. “That’s it.”
Nash zoom
