Chapter 7

“Calphalon. Very nice.” He would know, since he did the cooking for Portia. “And she kept them in good condition.”

I’d planned to buy him some to celebrate their relationship, but between Spike, the friend of a friend, getting kidnapped, Femme needing some help with the shit that was going down at the Division, and then me getting shot, I hadn’t had the time. And of course when I’d had the opportunity to see what he had in his kitchen, I’d realized it would be like bringing coals to Newcastle. I’d have to come up with something else, and I’d have to do it soon.

We were about to head up to the second floor— “Do you think we should have an elevator put in?” Quinn asked, staring pointedly at my bum leg—when a sound reminiscent of fingernails on a blackboard made me shy back and reach for the Glock I carried under my left arm.

“What the fuck—”