Two Souls Hollow. Пола Грейвс

watched Anson’s face for his reaction.

      He watched her fingers fly, a hint of surprised admiration in his expression. “You sure you’re not a cardsharp? ’Cause I’m not ashamed of my body if you want to rethink the strip poker—”

      Before she could come up with a suitably smart-ass reply, her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her jeans pocket and looked at the display. The caller’s identity was blocked, just as it had been when Quinn had called her earlier.

      “Quinn?” Anson asked.

      “Probably.” She answered. “Hello?”

      The voice on the other line was unfamiliar and as hard as mountain granite. “When your brother sobers up, give him a message for me.”

      “Who is this?” Her voice came out low and strangled. Anson’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, his expression instantly alert.

      “Tell your brother he’s a dead man.”

      “Wait—”

      But the line had gone dead.