Force ripped a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and tossed it over. “BOLO for a truck matching yours as well as a guy with a gun matching you.”

“Huh.” Wolfe scratched his head. “Didn’t know anybody saw me.” He’d checked the area for cameras and hadn’t seen any, but he had been driving fast, shooting, and then smacking a guy around. “Guess I should store the truck for a little while. Am I on camera?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Force set his jaw. “Why aren’t you more concerned? Surely somebody got your license plate.”

“Oh.” Wolfe wiped rain off his forehead. “I bought the truck with cash and used a fake ID, so the title isn’t in my name. The plates are stolen from a different state, and I’ll switch them out right now.”

Force’s head jerked. “Well, now. Aren’t we the careful criminal?”

“I try,” Wolfe said dryly. “You quit drinking yet?”

Roscoe’s ears twitched.

“No,” Force said, scratching the pooch under the chin. “You offering?”

“Yeah.” He dripped water on the carpet as he walked into the kitchen and poured whiskey into two tumblers. He returned and handed one to Force, looking the man in the eye. “Slainté.”

“Slainté.” Force tipped back a healthy swallow.

Wolfe dropped into the adjacent chair, which had come with the house. “Have you gotten your hands on Candy Folks’s autopsy report yet?”

“Still working on it.” The kitten dodged from behind the sofa and jumped onto Force’s lap, digging his nails into his jeans. “Kat. Take it easy.” He scratched the kitten between the ears. “I don’t have connections in D.C. any longer, but Raider does, so he should have the report sometime tomorrow.”

Wolfe let the whiskey warm his belly. “What about the safe house?”

“Not yet, but again, working on it.” Strain showed in the lines around Force’s eyes. “We may have to put her with Jethro.”

The hair on the back of Wolfe’s neck stood up. “Absolutely not.” The charming Brit would make a move, and he wouldn’t know how to protect her from a monster like Rock.

Force swirled his drink in the glass. “If you’re not interested, you shouldn’t care.”

“He’s a professor, for Pete’s sake.” Wolfe shook his head. What in the world was Force thinking? This British dude had him confused.

Force tipped back the rest of the booze. “He’s a professor now. Used to be MI6.”

Wolfe drew up short. “No shit?”

Force nodded, stood, and headed into the kitchen to reach into the top cupboard for the bottle. “Yep. I’m sure he doesn’t want that getting out with his fresh start on life and all of that, so keep it between us.”

No problem.