You Don't Know Jack Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Adrianne Lee
Then he shook his head and hunkered down, his bulging arms resting on the counter like a man about to do push-ups. "Well, I'm the second son of a son of a bitch. What fuckin' fool thing are you doin' with that bastard Larson that needs to be notarized?"
I'd just finished explaining when the man in question arrived in his gray Mercedes. He looked pretty much as he had yesterday, boots, Stetson, sheepskin lined jacket. All bright eyed and eager. Just a hint of smug around the eyes. How I'd love to wipe that away, but I reminded myself what was at stake, and also, that the "impulse gene" was not connected to the "in one's best interest gene."
He carried a briefcase. His cologne arrived ahead of him, something musky and earthy. Not to my taste. Nor was the stench of animosity wafting off Sharkey.
"See," Lars said. "Right on time."
"Do you have the agreement and the cashier's check?" I asked, my stomach knotted. I wouldn't feel secure about this deal until the check was in my account.
Flexing biceps the size of mountains, Sharkey took out his notary stamp. "Jack B tells me she and you require my special services."
"We need you to witness our signatures on this document is all." Lars shoved up on the brim of his Stetson.
"No." Sharkey's voice rumbled from deep within his throat. "That ain't all. Not by a skunk's tail. If you don't keep your word, cowboy, I'll hunt you down and feed your entrails to the rats in my back alley, understood?"
Lars arched an eyebrow, disdain hardening a gaze that said Sharkey was the one with the cowboy attitude. "There's no need for hostility. We're all friends here. Right?"
Sharkey grinned the coldest smile I'd ever seen and flexed his muscles again.
"Cool it." I smacked my purse on the counter. "I don't care which one of you can out piss the other. Let's just do this, okay?"
Lars took a step back and handed me the agreement. Sharkey and I read it together. Everything was stipulated as I'd asked it to be. I insisted Lars sign first, then I signed and Sharkey added the stamp that made the whole thing official. It was as legal as it was going to get. Lars handed me the check. He'd figured it to the penny.
Sharkey sneered at Lars. "Generous of you to round off the amount."
Lars' neck turned red, and his gaze narrowed. I recognized that look. Despite the fact it would be like poking an angry grizzly, he was about to tell Sharkey to put it where the sun don't shine.
"Thanks, Sharkey," I said, catching Lars by the arm and dragging him outside into the cold gray day.
He jerked free of my hold. "That guy's an asshole. We should have met at my attorney's office."
I struggled not to grin. "Sharkey's lawyer enough for me."
"He thinks he's mafia." Lars adjusted his Stetson. "Just make sure you're at the club tonight."
The minute Lars left the parking lot, I was in Old Yeller on my way to the bank. As soon as I got home I reconnected my internet service and electronically paid some bills I'd been putting off. I would have liked to have spent hours surfing the internet, checking out sales on eBay, catching up on the latest celebrity gossip, finishing up some research on my current manuscript. But I had to come up with some sort of disguise for the night's excursion into my first undercover operation.
Apollo showed up at ten p.m. wearing skin tight jeans, a sparkling gold tee shirt, a diamond stud in his ear and a long shimmery blue scarf around his neck. His dark hair brought to mind an agitated porcupine.
He looked like a party animal in need of a Rave.
I looked like a costume in need of a Halloween party.
I wore a dead man's suit — including tie, vest and fedora — borrowed from the Crain Sisters' attic. It had belonged to one of the men who'd passed through their lives, then passed away. My pale blond tresses were tucked into the hat.
As disguises go, this one needed to. I groaned and waved my hands in frustration. "Look at me."
Apollo's narrowed gaze scanned up and down my length. "What
I'd just finished explaining when the man in question arrived in his gray Mercedes. He looked pretty much as he had yesterday, boots, Stetson, sheepskin lined jacket. All bright eyed and eager. Just a hint of smug around the eyes. How I'd love to wipe that away, but I reminded myself what was at stake, and also, that the "impulse gene" was not connected to the "in one's best interest gene."
He carried a briefcase. His cologne arrived ahead of him, something musky and earthy. Not to my taste. Nor was the stench of animosity wafting off Sharkey.
"See," Lars said. "Right on time."
"Do you have the agreement and the cashier's check?" I asked, my stomach knotted. I wouldn't feel secure about this deal until the check was in my account.
Flexing biceps the size of mountains, Sharkey took out his notary stamp. "Jack B tells me she and you require my special services."
"We need you to witness our signatures on this document is all." Lars shoved up on the brim of his Stetson.
"No." Sharkey's voice rumbled from deep within his throat. "That ain't all. Not by a skunk's tail. If you don't keep your word, cowboy, I'll hunt you down and feed your entrails to the rats in my back alley, understood?"
Lars arched an eyebrow, disdain hardening a gaze that said Sharkey was the one with the cowboy attitude. "There's no need for hostility. We're all friends here. Right?"
Sharkey grinned the coldest smile I'd ever seen and flexed his muscles again.
"Cool it." I smacked my purse on the counter. "I don't care which one of you can out piss the other. Let's just do this, okay?"
Lars took a step back and handed me the agreement. Sharkey and I read it together. Everything was stipulated as I'd asked it to be. I insisted Lars sign first, then I signed and Sharkey added the stamp that made the whole thing official. It was as legal as it was going to get. Lars handed me the check. He'd figured it to the penny.
Sharkey sneered at Lars. "Generous of you to round off the amount."
Lars' neck turned red, and his gaze narrowed. I recognized that look. Despite the fact it would be like poking an angry grizzly, he was about to tell Sharkey to put it where the sun don't shine.
"Thanks, Sharkey," I said, catching Lars by the arm and dragging him outside into the cold gray day.
He jerked free of my hold. "That guy's an asshole. We should have met at my attorney's office."
I struggled not to grin. "Sharkey's lawyer enough for me."
"He thinks he's mafia." Lars adjusted his Stetson. "Just make sure you're at the club tonight."
The minute Lars left the parking lot, I was in Old Yeller on my way to the bank. As soon as I got home I reconnected my internet service and electronically paid some bills I'd been putting off. I would have liked to have spent hours surfing the internet, checking out sales on eBay, catching up on the latest celebrity gossip, finishing up some research on my current manuscript. But I had to come up with some sort of disguise for the night's excursion into my first undercover operation.
Apollo showed up at ten p.m. wearing skin tight jeans, a sparkling gold tee shirt, a diamond stud in his ear and a long shimmery blue scarf around his neck. His dark hair brought to mind an agitated porcupine.
He looked like a party animal in need of a Rave.
I looked like a costume in need of a Halloween party.
I wore a dead man's suit — including tie, vest and fedora — borrowed from the Crain Sisters' attic. It had belonged to one of the men who'd passed through their lives, then passed away. My pale blond tresses were tucked into the hat.
As disguises go, this one needed to. I groaned and waved my hands in frustration. "Look at me."
Apollo's narrowed gaze scanned up and down my length. "What