Jackson pulled into the parking lot of Green Studio, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This was ridiculous. He'd faced down armed thugs and survived a gunshot wound. Yet here he was, sweating bullets over a yoga class.
"Alright," he muttered. "I'm here. Now, how about you tell me the name of this yoga instructor I'm supposed to charm?"
Silence.
"Oh, come on," he groaned. "Don't go all shy on me now. You're usually so chatty."
Still nothing.
"Fine," he grumbled. "Be that way."
He climbed out of the car, stretching his arms over his head. His shoulder twinged, a phantom pain from a wound that no longer existed.
A police cruiser rolled by, its lights off but moving with purpose. Jackson froze, his heart leaping
