“You hungry?” he asks.
“No, but we should stop if you are.”
“Later,” he says, looking at my hand. “One more errand, then I’ll take you back to the castle and you can hang around with Zoe and do whatever you want.”
“I’m not in a rush. Can I tell you my ideas for the new musical?”
“Of course,” he murmurs.
I laugh softly, thinking we’re both acting a little stunned and distracted.
“What?” he asks.
“You and me. I think we’re both a little shocked, right? Our getting together? Now a ring? A house? It’s a lot in a short time. Hard to process it all, huh?”
“Nah, the timing feels right to me. I was meaning to get around to that kidnapping thing for a long time. Should’ve done it sooner.”
I laugh, and the corner of his mouth curves up.
* * *
Anvil
I look at the ring on her hand half a dozen times on the drive back. Reality doesn’t feel real yet, but we’ll get there.
The property I’m buying is next to the C Crue complex. Trick had been working on the owners to free it up for the Crue to buy for a while. Good timing that they finally relented right when I needed to build Rachel a house.
“Did you have to pick a spot so far from our friends?” she deadpans.
I wink and hold out the packet from the realtor. There are a dozen different floor plans from three different builders. I orient the pages and let her go through them. Straight off she cuts the group down to five, which is good.
My attention’s half on the street, keeping an eye out for Frank and his guys as I always do. The approaching woman doesn’t raise a blip until she walks onto the property.
“Rachel,” she calls.
We both turn toward her. Her hair’s darker and she’s put on about twenty or thirty pounds, so I don’t recognize her at first.
“Mom?” Rachel says breathlessly.
Hannah Ross digs into her bag, and she comes up with a gun.
I grab Rachel and shove her behind me, but when I reach for my gun, Hannah yells for me to stop.
“Rachel, come out.”
“No,” I bark.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asks, and I don’t know if she’s talking to me or her crazy mother.
The woman looks normal enough with her highlighted hair and pink track suit, but she’s holding the gun like a twitchy meth head.
“Let her go! I will shoot you!” she yells.
“Go ahead,” I say in a low voice.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Rachel says. “Please don’t do this.”
“Come over here. We’re leaving. You move aside. Let her go. You have no right. Neither did Frank!”
