The romance section occupied two whole rows.Colors.Spines.Couples embraced in every pose known to man.Cowboys.Billionaires.Vampires.A few bikers.None resembled us.
Jade ran her fingers along the titles, reacquainting herself with a forgotten language.“I used to come here a lot,” she whispered.“Before Jason got in deep.Before Roth.I hid in the corner and read until closing.Stories made more sense than real people.”
I leaned against the shelf.“They still do.”
“Probably.”She tucked her hair behind her ear.
Her hand paused on a book with a worn spine.“I read this one three times.”She pulled it halfway out.“Girl runs away from an arranged marriage and falls for a bodyguard who swears he doesn’t deserve her.”
I raised an eyebrow.“How did that work out?”
“She teaches him he’s worthy of love,” Jade said.“He teaches her she gets to choose her own life.Everyone cries and then has sex.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said.
She elbowed me lightly.“You’re not my bodyguard.Now, help me pick something.”
We spent half an hour wandering the aisles.
She grabbed three romances.One with a grumpy fisherman.One with a witch.One with a single dad who ran a bakery.
“You’re building a type,” I said.
“My type is ‘fictional men who talk about their feelings,’” she said.“Real life set a low bar.”
I grabbed something off the thriller shelf near the end.FBI agent versus corrupt small-town sheriff.Might hit too close to home.Might feel good watching someone win.
As we moved toward the checkout, I caught movement through the window.
A car rolled past the lot entrance.Dark.Shiny.Not familiar.
My shoulders went tight.
Jade noticed.
“Diaz?”she whispered.
I shook my head.“Probably not.Plenty of people drive cars with shiny paint.”
“You sure?”Jade’s fingers tightened around her books.
“No.”I glanced toward the window.“Jimmy stands on the fence with binoculars for a reason, and General watches this parking lot on two different screens back at the clubhouse.”
Irene appeared at the desk, sliding her glasses up her nose.
“You okay, dear?”she asked Jade, eyes sharp.“You look like you might bolt again.”
“Old habits,” Jade said.“Nice car went by.”
Irene snorted.“I grew up in a city.”She tapped her glasses back up her nose.“Nice cars meant rich assholes.You see one stop here and isn’t the mailman?Hit the little button under this desk and I’ll call your boys.”She waved a hand.“Until then, breathe and let me do my job.”
I raised an eyebrow.“You have a panic button?”
“Of course.”Irene’s mouth curved into a knowing smile while she straightened a stack of return slips.“Library board installed it for emergencies -- broken arms on the steps, medical incidents.”She leaned forward, lowering her voice.“But I know better.Did you imagine I allowed your club to plant cameras without demanding protection in return?”
I smiled.“You’re scary, Miss Irene.”
“Good.”She checked Jade’s books out under her old card, scolding her when she tried to argue about the fines again.She rang mine up under the generic club card, same as always.
