8
I called Becca on the way home. “How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Managing.”
“Good. When you’re up to it, I need you to do some digging for us on an asshole named Rudy Pratt. Phone logs, bank records, credit report, the works.”
“I’ll run it in the morning if I’m feeling better.”
“Great. I’ll send you the info I have on him.” My phone beeped, showing an incoming call. “That’s probably Conor. I gotta go. Take it easy, Becks.”
“Say hello to lover boy for me.”
“Will do.”
I clicked over to the incoming call. “This is Jinx Ballou.”
“Where are ya, love?” he asked in his Irish brogue.
“On the way home. Where are you?”
“At your place. Cooking dinner.”
“You’re cooking?” This was new. He could cook up a decent breakfast, but dinner was a new twist for him. “What’s on the menu?”
“Potato
