Frankie asked as Marisela attempted, for the fifth time, to close the hidden compartment behind the passenger seat of the sleek, black Corvette he’d requisitioned for the trip to interview Tracy Manning. The garage beneath the Titan home office was temperature controlled, but the exertion was making her sweat.Winded with frustration, she spun around and knocked her head on the car’s low roof. “Does it look like I’ve had time? Why do we have to pack all this firepower, anyway? We’re just meeting Tracy Manning, tight?”Frankie clucked his tongue at her in a way that made her shove her hands under her knees so she didn’t slug him.“Can’t be too prepared,” he said, strapping his 9 mm into his shoulder holster. “We still don’t know who tried to kill us last night.”“Or scare us,” she mused.“You scared?”“Hell, no. I’m just pissed!”“Good, then fold that vest the right way, get it under the seat so I can’t see it, and make sure the coordinates to this farm in…Natick…are programmed in so we don’t waste time once we’re on the road.”She arched a brow at him.
