Free Blood Money (Bad Money #1) by Ali Parker

woman's presence and Jon wasn't so sure of her guilt. He would have to dig further. His visits to Adam's small tent in the shitty side of town didn't do anything for him. His brother had left a few things, surprisingly enough, one of them being a picture of the beautiful club owner.
    Jon walked to his dresser and picked it up, the small photo torn and dirty, but her smile leaving him intrigued. She had to be more to Adam than a simple friend who helped him through tough times. The photo being in his bunker had told Jon that much. Did he use it to jack off to? Most likely, but Jon would see why.
    Kate was a few years younger in the picture, her smile wide and welcoming, her eyes filled with happiness. No way was she really experiencing it. Most likely high on something, but either way, she was breathtaking. He slid his hand into the front of his boxers and pressed his hardening erection back down.
    "I need to get laid."
    Growling softly, he put the picture down and moved to tug on a pair of jeans. His phone charger was in the car and even though he promised himself he wouldn't get dressed until later that afternoon, scaring the elderly woman in the small house next door with his bulging erection wasn't going to happen. He chuckled at the thought and slipped out into the chilly Monday morning shadows.
    The position of the car caught his attention as he moved toward it. His eyes shifted toward the tires. All four were flat... no coincidence there. He growled and turned to walk to his small garage, the lock still in place, which meant that his bike was good.
    He would search for evidence after getting some food in his stomach, his mood souring at the realization that this case wasn't going to be a clean one. They never were when drugs were involved. He would have to start watching his back as well. These guys were fucking dangerous and didn't care who they took out in the process of getting what they wanted.
    Was Kate involved with them? He would have to ask her.
    "She doesn't need you saving her." He pressed the key fob on his car and got into the front seat to dig out the charger. His phone buzzed in his pocket, causing him to jump and hit his head on the top of the door. He cursed softly and got out, walking back to the house after scanning the street in front of his place.
     
    "I'm coming over."
     
    No name. No number.
     
    He texted back: "Who the fuck is this and how do you know where I live."
     
    Nothing.
    He growled again and walked back into the house. He was supposed to spend the day in his underwear lounging around and trying to get a little bit of rest before the week from hell started. There was nothing worse than maintaining peace during the Mardi Gras festival. Jon locked the door behind him and walked to the kitchen, pulling out various items to use in making a big breakfast.
    He enjoyed cooking, but rarely got the chance to do it. Monday morning was one of those rare occasions and he made sure to treat himself every week without fail. Whoever was coming could watch him eat... if he invited them in.
    A soft knock at the door sounded as he pushed the button to start his toaster. He reached over and picked up his coffee cup, taking a long sip before walking to the door with it. He could see her silhouette just outside on his porch, her figure giving him no doubt as to who it was there to see him.
    "Kate?" He opened the door and tilted his head to the side. "How did you find out where I lived?"
    She wrapped her arms around her chest, her dress pretty and feminine. Her dark hair sat in thick curls, rolling over her shoulders and framing the beauty of her dark features.
    "I looked you up. Are you going to invite me in?"
    "Depends on what you're here for."
    She huffed softly, a smirk lifting her perfect mouth as she walked into the house. Her shoulder brushed his bare chest, sending goosebumps down his body.
    Like being a horny high school idiot again.
    "Come in?" He shut the door and walked toward the kitchen, his