Convict: A Bad Boy Romance by Roxie Noir

was a Confederate, obviously.”
    She’s quiet for a long moment as she looks me up and down with a look that makes my skin prickle.
    You’re just helping a nice girl with a problem, I think. That’s all.
    “That explains a lot,” she says.
    “Like what, Detective?” I ask.
    “All the surfing in the world isn’t gonna make you seem like a native,” she teases. “If you want to fit in, buy some sandals and grow a topknot.”
    “Is that what California girls like?” I ask. My voice lowers. “Shorts, sandals, and long hair? Maybe I should start calling everyone bro .”
    “I would pay money to see that,” Luna says, straight-faced. “You asking me for girl advice because the blond turned you down?”
    Shit . First I told her about the time I picked up a married woman, now she’s watched me flirt with someone else, and it’s not like I can say I had to get my mind off you somehow .
    “I thought you didn’t have me under surveillance, Detective,” I finally say. “But you sure do seem to be watching me a lot.”
    Luna blushes hard enough that I can see it even in the dark, and turns her face away.
    “It’s a small town,” she says. “Coincidences happen.”
    “Hey, I found something,” a voice calls, and we both turn. Raine is walking across the street, waving something long, thin, and floppy in his hand.
    “Is a bass string gonna work?” he shouts.

6
    Luna
    I ’ve never been more grateful for my dumb little brother.
    Stone is not flirting with you, I tell myself. This is probably the only mode he has for talking to women.
    Jesus, I don’t even believe myself . My entire body is blushing, I’m having a serious case of the tingles down below, and I know better than to think I’m the only girl who finds Stone super hot.
    Stone takes the bass string in his thick, calloused hands and runs it through his fingers from one end to the other. Raine looks from me to him and back with his eyes slightly narrowed, like a kid who’s intruded on adults doing something he doesn’t understand.
    “I think I can make this work,” Stone finally says.
    “Cool,” says Raine.
    We both watch Stone as he twists a loop in the end of the thick bass string and secures it, pulling it tight.
    “I’ve never used a guitar string before,” he says. “Let’s see if this works.”
    “It’s actually a bass string,” Raine offers. Neither of us answers him.
    Stone walks to the driver’s side door, and carefully threads the string into the slim crack as Raine and I stare.
    “You don’t have some kind of alarm system on this, do you?” Stone asks.
    I just snort.
    “Thought so,” he says, leaning over the car. He’s totally concentrated on the bass string between the doors as he slides it down, narrows his eyes, and pulls up.
    “Nope,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
    “Should we stop watching?” I ask. “Performance anxiety?”
    His smiling green eyes flick to me.
    “I don’t get performance anxiety,” he says, barely arching one eyebrow. “I’m just out of practice.”
    “At breaking into cars?” I ask.
    He slides the string down very carefully, concentrates for a moment, then pulls up again.
    This time there’s an unmistakable clunk noise, and Stone grins at me.
    “I worked for the repo man before I moved here,” he says. “Being able to break into cars came in handy.”
    I don’t quite believe him, but I don’t know why. The part of my brain that notices suspicious things is whispering at me, though, saying something’s not quite right, that answer is too easy.
    It’s saying, there’s something a little off about Stone and you know it .
    I push that part of my brain into a trunk and slam the lid. Sometimes it malfunctions.
    “Can you break into a lot of cars?” I ask. “Should I drag you down to the station after every car theft in Tortuga?”
    He stands, pulls back the bass string, and opens the car door.
    “Just the ancient ones with manual locks,” he says. “Good thing you’re