We move in unison back to Bishop’s car, Cruz taking the passenger seat again.
“Think it’s them?” Cruz asks as we pull onto the main road, dust billowing behind us.
Bishop’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Maybe.”
I slide into the backseat and try to tune my brothers out, but their voices keep pulling me back in. Bishop only asked for backup for my physicality—not my brain—though I’ve got ideas burning holes in my thoughts. Cruz is his right-hand when it comes to scheming and shit. Always has been. I exhale quietly, fingers hesitating before I swipe open my phone. I shouldn’t check the app again. I promised myself I’d stop. But my thumb finds the tracking icon anyway.
“First solid lead we’ve had,” Cruz says, tapping his fingers against the dashboard. “How’d you catch it?”
Bellamy’s blue dot blinks at me. It feels like an accusation. The itch to show up wherever she is sits just underneath my skin, a constant companion.
Bishop rolls one shoulder. “Dorsey mentioned someone tried to offload a Mack to his kid. Kid had enough sense to pass. Made a few calls, figured out Ron didn’t.”
“If Ron was telling the truth, then they’ll be back in a few weeks. Which means they’ve got another job,” Cruz says.
“Or they’re planning another hit,” Bishop says on an exhale.
My thumb hovers over her blue dot. Three centimeters of movement and I could disable it, turn it off completely.
Instead, I just watch it pulse, steady as a heartbeat I’ve got no right to monitor.
FIFTEEN
BELLAMY
Late afternoon lightstretches long across the sidewalk, warm enough to soften the edges of everything it touches but not enough to take the bite out of the air. I walk slower than I need to, iced coffee in one hand, my phone balanced in the other as I scroll without really seeing anything on the screen.
It’s been two weeks since Coco’s party. Nineteen days since the job went sideways. And nothing has happened.
No fallout. No sign that anyone is coming to collect whatever they didn’t get that night.
It should feel like a win, and yet, it doesn’t. The silence makes my teeth ache like I’m biting down on tinfoil.
My phone buzzes in my hand as I turn off the main street. Traffic noise fades into the background hum of a residential neighborhood. The sun dips lower, no longer burning but still pressing against my skin, working its way through my t-shirt to settle between my shoulder blades.
Gage: Hey
I glance down at the screen, hopping over a crack in the sidewalk with an exaggerated step. My lips twitch upward asmy thumbs hover over the keyboard, and I take an extra second before responding, savoring the warm flutter in my chest.
Me: Hi
Gage: What are you up to?
Me: Are we acquaintances now? I thought we were past small talk.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Gage: C’mon Bell. We both know we’re very good friends.
I bite my lower lip to keep from grinning too wide as I pass a parked car. Sunlight flashes across the windshield, momentarily blinding.
Me: “What’s a little light stalking between friends” friends?
Gage: Exactly.
Me: Haven’t seen you lately.
Gage: If I was in town I’d already be outside your house.
