No Limits

If it was any woman other than Yvette, Cannon might have just agreed and let it go. But with Yvette, the protectiveness smothering him was far too powerful for him to joke about it with anyone, even his best friend. “Armie—”

“Give it a rest, buddy. I know what I know. After seeing her, I’d think it was weird if you didn’t. But don’t sweat it. I’ll be all circumspect and shit whenever I’m around her.”

Defensive as well as protective, he warned, “I don’t want her hassled. By anyone.”

“Noted.” Armie moved right on past the topic, saving Cannon from more awkwardness. “How about you order in a pizza and I’ll come by after work on Friday? That soon enough for you?”

“Yeah, sure.” To be fair, he added, “Thanks. I owe you.”

Armie snorted over that. “Maybe someday I’ll collect. See you later.”

After putting his phone back in his pocket, Cannon checked the time. Almost nine o’clock.

Where the hell was she?

He was not a man who got keyed up. In the SBC he was known for his cool head and meticulous manner. But now, dealing with Yvette, his impatience rivaled a swelling tide. He needed to expend energy somehow, either by taking off on his own jog, hitting something...or maybe indulging in a long, hot shower.

He didn’t want to be gone when she returned, and he hadn’t yet installed a heavy bag, so the shower won out.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to be clean, shaved and dressed before she returned. Driven by thoughts of what he’d do and say to her, Cannon left the hall bathroom door open and kept his ears cocked as he let the warm water relieve some of his residual aches and pains from the last fight.

He’d just stepped out when the landline rang. Hastily wrapping a towel around his hips, he followed the sound and located the old-fashioned, curly corded phone on the wall in the kitchen. Huh. Skeptical that it’d really work, he picked it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Cannon? Oh, good. I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”

The female voice sounded familiar, but he wasn’t sure—

“It’s Mindi, from Frank’s office.”

“Frank?”

“Mr. Whitaker.”

Biting back the groan, Cannon dropped against the wall and forced some pleasantness into his greeting. “Morning, Mindi. How are you?”

“Working, so don’t get all worried that I’m calling in my rain check.”

Appreciating her humor, he smiled with her. “Sorry. I’m just slammed, that’s all.”

“You poor thing, having so much dumped on you. How is Tipton’s granddaughter?”

Cannon frowned. “We’re fine.”

“Working through everything?”

He pushed away from the wall. “Did Whitaker ask you to call?”

Her laugh was meant to be teasing, but instead it annoyed him. “No, but I’m hoping I can be helpful. I’ve found someone who wants to buy the pawnshop.”

A disturbing mix of regret and resolution glued Cannon to the spot. Through the restriction in his chest, he said, “Come again?”

Still sounding chipper and unfazed by his lack of enthusiastic reply, Mindi explained. “A buyer. For the pawnshop.”

Carefully, giving himself time to think, he said, “I didn’t know you were helping with that.” He got his feet moving but couldn’t pace far, not with the phone attached to the wall.

“Officially, we’re not. But you know that Frank and Tipton were friends, so I’ve let others know that it’s up for sale. I figured it was the least I could do.”

So she called the lawyer by his first name. Interesting. Then again, it could mean nothing. Whitaker ran a small office and probably didn’t go on formality. “I see.”

“Is there a good time I can bring him by to check it out?”

Just then, Cannon heard a slight noise at the front door. Anticipation surged through him, obliterating everything else. “I’ll talk to Yvette and get back to you.”

Mindi was still thanking him when he hung up.

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