“Just because you haven’tusedit since then doesn’t mean you aren’tthinkingwith it.”
He’s almost always right. I blow out a breath. He slowly stands from his chair, the wooden legs creaking. Every time I see him, he’s a little more bent over.
“She’s just . . . not like anyone I’ve met before.”
He’s shuffling toward the coffeepot, so I pull it out to refill his mug.
He slurps it loudly before responding. “That complicates things.”
“She’s out there with Tommy right now, cuddling a baby rabbit. She draws cartoons, has a pet turtle...” I run a hand through my thick hair. “She’s so...genuine. If she hadn’t turned up in my office that day, I would’ve taken her out on a real date.”
He’s listening to me ramble, and I honestly don’t know why I’m babbling on. Now that it’s out in the open, I’m starting to realize I like her much more than I was acknowledging.
A lot more.
Holy shit, am I . . .
“If she is working undercover, would that change anything?”
I stare at his wrinkled face, thoughts churning.
“You mean...if she was here to spy on me, would I still care about her?”
He nods, watching me.
He’ll know if I’m lying to him.
“It would make it hard to trust her.”
“That’s true.”
Silence envelops us for the next few moments. The realization that I might actually forgive her for something like that is...unnerving.
Where the hell are my allegiances if I’m even considering this?
Unease is crawling around in my gut. Footsteps sound in the hallway before Linnet appears in a bright yellow shirt.
“Well, everyone is up before me, I suppose. You want some eggs and bacon, sugar?” She smiles at me, pouring herself a mug of coffee and adding almost just as much cream.
“No, thanks. This sludge will keep me full until noon.”
Walter chimes in, “That sludge will give you some hair on your chest, like a real man.”
I smirk at him, thankful to be back here and experience a taste of the slower side of life. My phone starts to buzz, Jackson’s name on the screen jerking me back to reality.
“What?” I answer, exiting the kitchen to meander down the hall.
“You put a knife through his ribs, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then, it wasn’t Stephen Rail. Last night, I watched him tear his shirt off up onstage after his set.”
“Fuck.” I step out through the side door, trailing around to the truck.
“Yeah, not a scratch on him. Nothing left behind at the apartment either.”
“Did you talk to the roommate?”
