“Later, Deck. And thanks, brother.” Deke disconnected and again focused on Jussy.

He didn’t even lower his phone before she asked, “What?”

He looked into her brown eyes, knowing this was Jussy, his gypsy princess. She’d take it in, deal with it and move on.

“Okay, baby, good news,” he started. “Brendon Caswell is no longer a threat and won’t be because his dead body was found this morning in an apartment in LA.”

“Holy crap,” she whispered, those brown eyes getting huge.

“Now for the weird news,” he warned her.

“Oh shit.” She was still whispering.

“He was found in Bianca’s apartment.”

She closed her eyes.

“Look at me, gypsy,” he ordered, shoving his phone in his pocket and lifting his hand to wrap it around the back of her neck under her hair.

She opened her eyes.

“Folks saw her, Jussy. Said she looks good, clean, healthy. Say she’s at home at night, not out partying. Say she doesn’t have folks coming by. She’s nice to people when she sees them in the halls. Decker says the apartment building isn’t the greatest, but her place was clean, good furniture.”

She shook her head. “I don’t get that, Deke.”

Deke tried to explain it. “First, Decker, and my guess is the cops he called in, do not think Bianca killed Caswell. The hit appears professional.”

Her eyes got huge again and her voice got loud when she shouted, “What?”

“Deck’s speculating a lot but he’s also still lookin’ into things. He’s coming back tomorrow and he’ll let us know what he finds out. But in the meantime, it seems your girl cleaned herself up and seems to be gettin’ on okay.”

“Except some hitman killed someone in her apartment,” Jussy stated.

“Yeah, except that,” Deke grunted.

“Was she there?”

“They don’t know but folks saw her go in, another guy go in too, that guy was a put-together, good-lookin’ black man. She knew him. They seemed tight. No one saw either of them leave or Caswell go in. Decker found Caswell early this morning. Bianca and the other guy were gone.”

“So what does all this mean? She had someone kill Caswell for her?” she asked.

“It means we don’t know what it means until Decker finds out so we should just get on with what we’re doin’ and wait until we got solid information. Not make guesses and get tweaked about shit we don’t know we should tweak about.”

She moved and did it to pull her phone out of the fringed bag hanging from a strap that crossed her body over one of the few pieces of clothing she owned he really fucking liked.

It was like the dress she’d worn when he first saw her again, walking into Bubba’s.

This one was long, down to her ankles, sleeves that went down to her mid-forearms that were flowy, the dress brown with a pattern of little cream flowers on it. The waist was belted under her tits with a narrow belt made of Native American beading.

That was all okay.

The part Deke liked a fuckuva lot was that the front was cut all the way down to that belt. The rest of her was covered, except her wrists, and that slash, exposing chest and the inside swells of her gorgeous tits that were not restrained with a bra.

Total gypsy princess.

With all that hair down, tangled and messy from sleep and sex, in that dress, she looked fucking amazing.

So amazing, he got caught in taking it in and almost didn’t catch the fact she was making a call.

But he caught it and saw who she was calling on the screen.

He pulled her phone out of her hand and disengaged it.

Her head snapped back.

“What are you doing?” she rapped out.

“You aren’t calling your girl,” he told her.

She got close, up on her toes, and hissed, “Deke, the dude that strangled me was killed by an assassin in my best friend’s pad.” She rocked back. “Of course I’m gonna call her.”

“Baby, the asshat that strangled you was killed in your best friend’s apartment and you are not gonna make a call a few hours after a crime was committed that it’s possible that best friend witnessed.”

“The cops have got to know that this Caswell—”

“They know. Decker told them. That doesn’t mean you’re phoning Bianca,” he returned. “Let Decker see if he can find out what’s happening with her and—”

“She’s my best friend, Deke, and I’m worried about her,” she snapped.

“She’s your best friend, gypsy,” he said gently. “And it might be she’s consorting with hitmen, it appears she’s bein’ kept and there is a lot of conjecture surrounding what went down in her apartment after what went down with you. Decker says this smacks of payback. What was bein’ paid back was what happened to you. You were the one assaulted and you are a woman of means. Do not call your girl. You don’t need ties to her at all except the ones you already got. Are you following me?”

She glared at him and took her time doing it.

Then she jerked her eyes angrily away and looked down the sidewalk, taking her time with that too.

Finally, her shoulders slumped, her head dropped, she muttered, “Fuck,” and fell, the top of her head hitting his chest.

His hand still at the back of her neck squeezed.

Jussy.

She was following him.

“I need coffee,” she told his chest.