Shit.
“Laurel, wait.”
She didn’t. I followed right behind, but when she scrambled up through the trap door, she let it slam right on top of my head with a painful, well-deserved thud.
12
JASON
Laurel seemedto be only half-listening from the back seat as we were brought up to speed about the driver of the mystery car.
His name was Leo Kowalski, a handyman who’d been shopping at a home improvement store when a guy offered him a job. The man said he had a stack of documents he had to serve before five and was running out of time. Kowalski just had to knock on the door and hand the envelope to whoever answered.
Two hundred bucks up front, and another two after he delivered the benign-looking manila envelope with an address scribbled on the front. Kowalski had done his best to locate the non-existing address, driving up and down the neighborhood until he knew it better than anyone who lived there.
When shown the picture of Frey, Kowalski answered with a “maybe.” The Marshals Service was still waiting on FBI forensics to examine and report their findings on the envelope.
I drove this time, letting Derrick sleep, and I could feel the tension radiating outward in my direction.
It’s good that she’s angry.I needed some distance because there’d been a long moment on the stairs where I’d lost myself completely. Remembering the kiss caused me to tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
I waited until I was completely sure my partner was asleep. “Sorry about earlier,” I said quietly. “If I upset you?—”
“You didn’t.” It was obviously a lie, but she looked too tired to go another round with me right now.
I found her eyes in the rearview mirror, and they were glassy and dull. I wasn’t normally talkative. In fact, I preferred to ride in silence. But there was a clock subconsciously ticking in the back of my mind, counting down the hours until she’d leave my detail and transfer to another.
Gone, forever.
“Why ballet?”
My question hung so long, I wasn’t sure she was going to answer. But then she took in a preparing breath. “It’s what I’m supposed to do. I’d do it even if I wasn’t good at it.” Her curiosity overrode her anger, or perhaps she was just trying to be polite. “Why’d you become a marshal?”
“If I’d applied to the FBI academy, I’d probably be stuck working a desk.” It was all about the chase for me, and I liked the idea of being a modern-day cowboy.
Her expression was guarded. “And how would you get to break noses behind a desk?”
Fucking Caroline. She must have told her what I’d done to Nelson.
I kept my tone light. “Or protect ballerinas?”
“I’m not a ballerina. Ballerina is a title given to one woman in the company, after she’s been a principal for years. I’m a dancer.”
“When Bill told me that, I thought he meant?—”
“Exotic. Yeah, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that. I’m sure they make more than I do, but the hours aren’t great.”
It struck me how different we were, but like two sides of the same coin. Both in her professional and personal life, it was obvious how much people’s opinions mattered to her, whereas I couldn’t care less.
Except, was that true? Her opinion of me mattered, but I refused to analyze why.
When we stopped for fuel, Laurel asked to use the restroom and I escorted her inside. I stood guard, lingering near the hallway that led to restrooms and pretended to have difficulty selecting the perfect type of jerky.
At the beverage fountain nearby, a frazzled young mother tried to dispense two drinks while simultaneously wrangling her five-year-old.
“Brady, put that back!” she scolded.
The kid had grabbed a giant candy bar off the rack and swung it like a baseball bat. I admired both the kid’s dedication to form and the way he completely ignored his mother.Ballsy.
