The man looked like trouble, muscles poking from underneath a tight-fitting tee and black jeans slung low on his hips. He had that masculine, rugged thing going on which only added to his intrigue. He leaned against the door frame, lifting his arm above his head to expose an Only God can judge me tattoo on his inner bicep.

Paul’s eyes shifted between them. “You two know each other?” he asked, clearly stunned by the connection.

Mr. Mystery Man looked Deven up and down and she shuddered under the scrutiny, suddenly feeling soiled. He looked smug, too damn smug. Like he was sitting on some G13 classified FBI secret and it was eating him up not to share it. He didn’t answer Paul’s question, instead wiggling his eyebrows like he expected Deven to.

“I don’t know him,” she responded with a helpless shrug.

“Well, he obviously knows you.”

The man chuckled and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said.

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Deuce.”

Deuce? Deven rolled the name around in her head willing it to jog her memory. It didn’t ring a bell, though she honestly wished he’d given her a real name.

“We’re looking for Kennedy,” Paul said, taking the reins. “The man next door said you know her.”

Deuce took his time putting the cigarette to his lips. “Nah,” he said simply, pulling a lighter from his pocket.

Deven waited while he flicked it open, the flame licking the air as he cupped it close to his face to light the tip of his stick. “Well, you know Amber then.” It came out more of an accusation than a question.

“Nope.”

Paul was fed up and he spun on his heel. “Let’s go,” he huffed. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“No, wait.” Damn the niceties. Deven strolled closer and stabbed a bold finger in the man’s chest. “How the hell do you know me?”

Deuce was unfazed. “We have some mutual friends.”

“My sister.”

“Nah, I never met your sister.”

“Bullshit!” His apathy was infuriating, and Deven would’ve liked nothing more than to slap the shit out of him. He was toying with her, and he knew it. It was more than obvious by his leer and that little twinkle in his eye. “Where is my sister?”

“I heard she was dead.”

“No! You fucking liar!” Deven was being pulled backwards but she struggled, determined to beat the shit out of Deuce. He knew something. No, damn that, he had done something to Kennedy. “You muthafucka, I’m bringing the police back and they’re going to lock your ass up!”