He was shoulders to the wall, ankles crossed, arms crossed, and his head was bent in contemplation of his shoes before I walked out, and it came up when I did.

It was not a pose of patient waiting.

It was a pose of annoyed reflection.

I knew two things about seeing him there in that stance.

One, Sly was off duty.

Two, they hadn’t found Laszlo Kovack.

“Hey,” I greeted cautiously.

“Hey, baby,” he replied, pushing from the wall, uncrossing his arms but staying put as I made it to him and laid my hand on his chest.

He dipped his head to get my touch on the lips then took my hand and started us to the door as he said, “Caught your last dance. Usual awesome.”

“Thanks,” I murmured.

He pushed through the door and we nearly ran into Ian, who was coming in from escorting Pepper out.

He gave us both a look, a nod, and I said, “’Night, Ian.”

“’Night, Hatz. Pantera.”

“Walker.”

They added chin lifts to their macho, last-name farewells, and I wondered why men used last names instead of first.

I didn’t wonder long because in the end, it was just masculine, and in the case of Axl and Ian, hot.

Axl put me in his Jeep, rounded the hood and angled in beside me.

We belted up and were on our way.

As this happened, I thought that it sucked, this guy was screwing with him and me, Boone and Ryn.

It sucked my alone time and studio time was gone again.

And it sucked that, because of this, I wasn’t able to cook for Axl that night.

I hadn’t cooked for him yet, and truth be told, my cooking wasn’t all that much to write home about, but it wasn’t the worst.

And I wanted to do it for him.

I forged into the glum silence.

“Let me guess, you didn’t find him.”

“Nope.”

“You will. It’s just been a day,” I reassured.

“This guy is a shit Dom for fun, and he’s an insurance adjuster for work. He’s not a master criminal. We should have had him in an hour. He’s nowhere to be found.”

Oh boy.

“Well, maybe he knows who he’s dealing with and taking precautions,” I suggested.

“Yeah,” he muttered, making it clear he was unconvinced.

Back to the reassurance. “Tomorrow is another day.”

“Yeah, and we were gonna kick back and grill some burgers with Mo while you women did your thing with the shower. That’s off because we gotta find this guy.”

Another reason to be angry with Laszlo Kovack.

And since he’d racked up quite a list, I fell out of Reassurance Zone and slid into Annoyed Zone.

“This guy is such a jerk,” I snapped.

“Agreed.”