“Uh, yeah, she basically attacked me with a stiletto when she got home and saw me.”
“She what?”
“I was snooping through everything when she walked in, and instead of running, she came at me with a heel. Shit hurt too. I bled. She thought I was robbing her.”
The image of Jackson being injured by a female with a stiletto heel is definitely something I’ll bring up to embarrass him in the future.
“So, where does that leave us?”
“You gotta crack Kate Dawson. She’s the only one we have who could be in on this. If she is, whoever she’s working with is still in the dark. We need to draw them out.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Maybe you should bring her back. They obviously want to kill her—or at least pretend to. We could use her as bait.”
My pulse skyrockets at his suggestion. My grip on the phone is in danger of cracking the screen.
“Go to BE,” I grit out. “Look through everything in Georginne’s office. She hired Kate the night after we met.”
“Will do.”
I end the call more forcefully than necessary for a touch screen.
Using Kate as bait is a logical plan, but there’s no way in hell I would ever go through with it.
So, you’re going to protect the woman who could be working for people trying to kill you? Or trying to kill you herself?
If Kate is an innocent civilian in all of this, why would they go after her? It doesn’t add up.
I refuse to dwell on it anymore, and I stalk back into the house.
The day is irritatingly enjoyable.
We gorge ourselves on peach ice cream and Walter’s shrimp kabobs.
Kate calls her roommate to explain her unexpected absence, spending over an hour on the phone. I hear a few snippets, but nothing sounds like code. Then again, she’s good.
Fred, the man with a public indecency charge, has texted her a few times, asking for a date. Well, he’s tried to. I had Jackson redirect all of his messages to my phone...in case he’s more than just a potential suitor.
She’s like a long-lost granddaughter to the Bells, and quickly becomes Tommy’s best friend. When he finds out she’s an illustrator, he refuses to allow her to do anything other than sketch every image that pops into his mind.
One of his best depictions that she scratches onto paper is a baby chick teetering on the edge of a cliff, where it befriends a mountain lion, who at first tries to eat the chick but ultimately helps him to safety.
They’re both doubled over with laughter by the time night falls. Linnet and Walter have long retired to bed, and I suspect Tommy could keep Kate up until the early morning hours with outlandish tales of animals all around the world.
“Okay, Tommy, I think it’s about time for you to hit the hay.”
He doesn’t argue, crushing Kate into a tight hug, forgetting about her wounded shoulder.
“Ah!” she cries out at the contact, but he doesn’t register the harm done.
“See you in the morning! Good night, Luke. I like your girlfriend.”
He strolls into the house, clutching the treasured drawings, unaware of the tension he created with his assumption.
“Are you okay?”
I sit down next to her in the chair he abandoned on the porch swing. She nods, even as her face twists in pain.
