My heart racing, I glare at the car in the four-way intersection. It was my turn to go. I was here first!
The driver jumps out and Skittles groans. Tom Brockman, the belly-slithering scumbag. What the hell is he doing here?
I lower my window to give him a piece of my mind. “Hey, dumbass. You were supposed to stop.”
“But you did, so it’s fine,” Tom says. “Look, I need to talk with Pascal.”
Skittles coves her eyes.
“Then you should call like a normal human being,” I say, still pissed.
“She blocked my number.”
I snicker. “Yeah, because she’s a normal human being who doesn’t want to talk to bottom-sucking barracudas.”
Tom ignores me and starts yelling like a lunatic. “Hey, Pascal, you thought about what I told you?”
“No. And why are you here? Are you stalking me?” She starts to reach for the door.
I put a hand on her arm. Getting out to talk is exactly what he wants. Staying inside gives a clear message:
One—he isn’t worth the bother of climbing out of the vehicle.
Two—we have no intention of lingering to talk.
Unfortunately, Tom is a bit slow on the uptake. “No, but I know you have dinner with your folks every Saturday. I was waiting to talk to you.”
More like an ambush.
He continues, “I’m telling you, you can screw with your dad, and I can make you famous too if you want. You can be the new picture of justice.”
New picture of justice? By Tom’s definition? I shudder.
“Justice, my ass!” Skittles says. “You mean the new picture of Dysfunctions R Us.”
“You know your dad’s guilty!”
What did Steve do? “What’s he talking about?”
She rolls her eyes. “He thinks Dad’s guilty of money laundering.”
“Steve? Ha!” That’s about as likely as me inventing a Star Trek transporter.
“Exactly. Dad has a lot of faults, but dishonesty isn’t one of them. Doesn’t matter, though, if the journalist is venal enough. Tom wants me to be his source.”
Oooh… “And you turned him down, but he can’t take no for answer.”
“Stop trying to influence my source, Blackwood,” Tom says.
“She doesn’t want to be your an
ything, Brockman,” I say. “And you know what? You stalking my girlfriend is seriously pissing me off.”
His jaw drops. “She isn’t your girlfriend.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“Yeah, I am,” Skittles says. She smiles.