Free Guns and Roses by Sylvia Day, Allison Brennan, Lori G. Armstrong Page B

resources,” a woman’s voice came through the speaker, throaty and low and oozing cool confidence.
    “Lucy, the governor and his head chef are trying to kill Mrs. McManus and make it look like an assassination gone awry.”
    The statement was met with dead silence as Callie and Ben shared a look.
    “You’re basing this on your gut?” the woman asked.
    “I’m basing it on unequivocal facts, including poison on her plate, a positive ID from a credible witness, and an hour in a freezer where I was locked with the credible witness who got an admission of guilt right before the chef tried to put a bullet in her.” He paused for a moment. “And, just so you know, Lucy, I’m on speaker with Callie Parrish, a… foreign substance expert I’ve brought on the case.” He threw her a look. “Callie, this is my boss, Lucy Sharpe.”
    Lucy coughed softly.
    “Former boss,” Ben corrected. “And future boss.”
    After a beat, Lucy said, “Let me double check the governor’s schedule.”
    Callie stole a look at Ben, who just drove with his attention riveted on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. He looked strong. Amazing. Confident. And, of course, gorgeous.
    Her heart was definitely… thawing.
    Granny Belle would love him and, funny thing, so could—
    “They’ve gone to a tri-county tea party at the West Villages retirement community just outside Tallahassee,” Lucy said. “Mrs. McManus is the featured speaker.”
    Ben shot the car into the right lane of traffic, barreling toward the interstate, barely glancing in the rear view mirror.
    “I’ll send the exact address to your phone and you can program directions.”
    “Does the itinerary say if Chef Monica Stone is with him at the event?” he asked.
    Lucy didn’t answer, but Callie could hear the soft click of a keyboard in the background. “She’s there, coordinating the menu, which brings me to something else.”
    “Yeah?” He cut off a truck and ran a yellow light to get to the I-10 entrance ramp.
    “The report from the lab came in on the poetry book you found at the fence-line with the black roses and pepper jelly.”
    Callie sat up straight at the mention of the roses, leaning closer to the phone.
    “Turns out they aren’t poems at all. One of our former NSA guys broke a simple code and in every poem is a formula for creating a poison from ordinary household items, different foods, and many flowering plants.”
    Callie gasped softly and Ben slammed on the accelerator, flying through another—no, that one was actually red.
    “I’m on my way to the tea party,” he said simply. “Back up would be nice.”
    “I understand. And, Callie, I hope you know how grateful we are to have your foreign-substance expertise.”
    “You want to thank her?” Ben asked. “Then you can do a little historical research on her behalf.”
    “Just let me know what you need, Ben.”
    Callie looked at him, a smile pulling. He could really do this? This Lucy woman could really find out Jeremiah’s real identity… the man who was Callie’s great-grandfather by birth?
    She reached over and touched Ben’s hand, curling her fingers through his.
    “I’ll check in, Luce,” he said, smiling at Callie. “When you give me my next assignment as a Bullet Catcher.”
    “How do you know I will?” she countered.
    “Something in my… gut.”
    She laughed softly. “Good luck, Ben. Do what needs to be done.”
    “I always do.” He ended the call and inhaled slowly, clearly satisfied with how that went. “She won’t let me back on staff until we finish this job.”
    “Then, let’s do it.”
    He smiled at her. “Damn, I like you more every minute, farm girl.”
    She grinned back. “Darn, I like you, too.”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Ben parked the car in the main lot of a sprawling complex called West Villages, taking a minute to study his passenger.
    “I know this is more than you counted on this morning, Callie. You wanted money and didn’t plan to risk