Free Mind Sweeper by AE Jones Page B

morning.”
    I hung up the phone. Dalton had retreated to the other side of the room.
    “I better get going. Thanks for dinner,” he said as he walked to the door.
    What the hell just happened?
    By the time my apartment door closed, I was wracking my overly tired brain to figure out why he had bailed. What was the one-eighty about? After I calmed down, and my hormones were no longer clouding my brain, I thought about the conversation with Misha and laughed. We had totally sounded like a couple. “Bring me breakfast, you know what I like.” I couldn’t have planned it better myself if I’d tried.
    So without any effort on my part, the operation to oust Dalton was back in play. The only problem was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get rid of him anymore.

Chapter 8

    My morning routine re-established, I walked into the office and plopped the pastry bag next to Misha, who sat hunched over his computer.
    He lifted his face, his eyes gleaming like a small child. “What did you bring me today?”
    “Biscotti.”
    “I should marry you.”
    I laughed. Misha grinned and then peered over my shoulder. “Good morning, Joe.”
    I cringed. It was official. The Fates did not want the two of us together. I turned and plastered a smile on my face.
    “Dalton.”
    “Morning.” He walked over to the counter, reached for the pot and stopped. He glanced questioningly back at us.
    Misha piped up. “Don’t worry I made it.”
    Dalton nodded and poured himself a cup.
    “You’re a quick study, Joe,” Misha chuckled.
    Dalton joined us at the table. “Have you found anything in the files?”
    “Plenty. I have only gotten through a few of them so far. Most of the business files seem legitimate. Ledgers of items being bought and sold. But I know when I dig further into this, I’ll figure out what he was hiding. I did find something interesting, Kyle. A twenty thousand dollar transaction between Hampton and Kevin Doyle several months ago. Hampton was still in Chicago then.”
    Before Dalton could even ask, I enlightened him, “Kevin Doyle runs a pawn shop on Chester Avenue. He’s a smarmy demon who uses the shop to front his illegal import business. If Hampton was dealing with him, then it’s not legit.”
    Dalton stood. “I think it’s time to pay him a visit.”
    * * *
    The annoying little bell rang above the door as Dalton and I entered the Wee Bit o’ Ireland Pawn Shop. A voice with a lilting Irish brogue called out to us from the back of the store, “Be wit’ ye in a minute.”
    Pawn shops always amazed me. Shelves of electronics that haven’t been in vogue for decades, jewelry and whatever else could potentially bring in money, lying about in no real order. I walked toward the back counter with Dalton on my heels. I wanted to be as close as I could to the little worm in case he tried to make a break for it.
    Kevin Doyle strutted out of the back and stopped abruptly when he caught sight of me. He was maybe five foot six, with buggy eyes. He also had thinning hair and a ridiculous comb over. Apparently, demon males were as vain and clueless as human males when it came to male-pattern baldness.
    “What do you want, McKinley?”
    “Really, Doyle, it’s been too long. What happened to your lovely Irish brogue? Do you only pull it out for unsuspecting customers?”
    “What do you want?”
    “We need to ask you a few questions.”
    “About what?”
    “Charles Hampton.”
    “Don’t know him.” His right eye twitched.
    “Really, so the money he gave you would not show up in your books?”
    He shook his head emphatically. “I deal with a lot of people. Do you think I remember everyone?”
    “The ones who give you twenty grand? Yes, I do.”
    He growled and Dalton tensed beside me. Up to this point, he had been hanging back, letting me do all the talking. Doyle took one look at him and stopped. I couldn’t see Dalton’s face, but I imagined he was doing one of his classic cop faces. I really needed him to teach me how to