Leighton Greene

What are you doing?” Angelo snapped, materializing behind me. He slapped my hand away from the coffee machine.

“Uh, I’m—”

“Come and sit down.”

There’s always time for coffee,” Angelo told me reprovingly. “Lesson number one, Baxter.”

Good coffee was non-negotiable.

Okay. Stakeouts are officially fuck-ass boring,” I announced around nine that night. I was dying. We’d spent all afternoon and early evening sitting there in the car, eating shitty gas station sandwiches and staring at a bar where Angelo said O’Sullivan sometimes hung out.

Please don’t talk with your mouth full,”

While we sat there waiting, Aidan was chewing his fingernails down to the quick. I pulled his hand away from his mouth and held it, instead.

As much as I loved justice, I loved Angelo Messina more. I wanted him more than I wanted a clear reputation. And I would protect him, no matter what. If that meant working with the Morellis, I’d do it.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “That wasn’t fair. Plus, you know I’m a dumbass.”

“All those braincells you’re killing at the gym.”