But not now. Because now, I get to pretend everything is normal while I go to work.
With a bodyguard.
Doc doesn’t blink when I tell him I need Giselle to hang out in the records room all day. He tells me to take the day off if I need to. Apparently he thinks planning a wedding the same week that my house is destroyed is a lot.
I don’t take the day off—working is easier than figuring out what I’m going to say to Davis when I go back to get my cat—but I do ask for a long lunch hour.
And that’s when I take advantage of having a security person with me.
Or try to, anyway.
Because there’s definitely a second-weirdest part, and that part is that I actually need a few minutes alone somewhere.
I haven’t spent a large portion of my adult years catching up on movies likePirates of the CaribbeanandJumanjiandThe Lost Cityto not realize that I made a tactical error in not getting Thorny Rock’s actual journal for Davis.
What’s written on the pages sometimes isn’t enough.
Sometimes, you have to see how the pages fit together or if there’s something secret hidden in the cover or if there’s a page missing.
“What are your boundaries?” I ask Giselle over lunch as she drives me downtown to pick up a gyro before going to the next place on my list.
She slides me a look. “Repeat the question with more details.”
“Do your clients ever have to commit small, petty crimes that you know about but can’t talk about because of confidentiality and because you know that the crime will be fixed and everything will be put right again before it’s actually a problem?”
“Once again, repeat the question with more details.”
“If there were, say, a historical artifact that should be on display at a museum, and someone who’s like a museum curator were to…quietly and temporarily acquire that historical artifact for the greater good of the world…”
“Let Davis steal Thorny Rock’s journal on his own. Keep your nose clean. Especially while the sheriff’s still investigating what happened withyourhouse last night.”
Welp, thatdoesanswer my question. “Why would you think Davis wants Thorny Rock’s journal?”
“It’s my job to know.”
“So he talks to his friends about what he’s up to?”
No answer.
“So he doesn’t talk to his friends about what he’s up to, but they send spies for updates?”
No answer again.
“You think he’s a bad influence on Levi?”
That earns me a dark smile, but just like Davis, once more, she doesn’t answer.
I snort softly and sink back into my seat.
Nice car. The leather’s buttery soft, the engine’s quiet, and the windows are tinted so that no one can see inside.
And I’m in it because there are people in this world doing nice things for me when they barely even know me.
Guilt that I can’t repay them starts to well up in my chest, and I order it away.
Be grateful, not guilty, I chant in my head.
“Thank you for being here with me today,” I say to Giselle. “It’s nice to feel less afraid than I was expecting to after last night.”
