A sly smile crossed Rich’s face before he spoke again. “The usual, was it?”
The back of Tom’s neck prickled, just a little. “Usual? What do you mean?”
He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial hiss. “You know... The sweet little fish patty that Ellie Rayne serves up at her place. You bring the tartar sauce, am I right? Sure wish I could have me some of...”
Tom had him by the collar and against the wall before he could finish his sentence. He lifted his arm, and Rich’s feet left the floor. “What did you just say?”
Rich stared into Tom’s eyes, seeing a thing that his colleague took pains, most of the time, to hide. Just behind the bright blue iris lay a glimmer of starlight and steel, and the deep red haze of death. The eyes of a warrior.
His chest heaved with unexpected fear. “Nothing!
