Maybe I’ve been wrong about her this entire time.
Hope—that pesky emotion I thought I’d banished permanently—pokes around in the back of my mind.
While I’ve been lost in deep musings, Lila pulled out her phone. “Here. Let me show you a picture so you can visualize this.”
Intrigued, I lean closer. “Picture of your neighbor or the ugly bird?”
“The bird, you dingle dork.”
When she shows me the picture on her phone, my reaction springs out of me. And it’s as loud as the frat boy dickwads behind us were earlier.
Cracking up in hysterics, I force out, “Fuck, Lila. That’s hilarious.”
We laugh together for a spell. When I can finally speak again, I joke, “If you call people shit like that, I’m glad I got away with Mr. Dirty Dimples.”
Her returning smile is effervescent, shining so much light I’m tempted to reach for my sunglasses. “Well, that’s only one of the things I call you.”
“Oh, do tell, Ms. Kent.”
She mimes zipping her lips closed. “Some secrets I’ll take to the grave.”
Comfortable silence falls between us before I prompt her to return to the story. “Let’s see. What were we talking about? Your neighbor, the ugly bird, was doing what in his backyard?”
Her easy smile retreats quickly, which makes me regret the subject change. At the same time, I want to know what made her cry earlier and is clearly still bothering her.
“Well, I caught him backing the peahens into a cage.”
The dots connect in my mind. “That’s where the birds have gone. He’s been trapping them, huh?”
Her face crumples as her tears threaten to return. “Yes.”
I slide close and throw my arm over her shoulder, yearning to comfort her. “So you saw this, ran out the door, and confronted him or what?”
She leans into me, releasing a resigned sigh. “I tried to, but I can’t get into his backyard since it’s fenced in. I hollered at him to come and talk to me about it. Of course, he just threatened to call the cops if I didn’t get off his property. LikeI’mthe bad guy in this situation.”
I’m not up to date on Florida law regarding catching wild birds, but I will be soon. That’s for damn sure.
If I can fix this for Lila, it’ll make her trust me.
For the case.
Mentally, I wait for Morgan Freeman to appear. It only takes a second.
Much to my dismay, our hero is at it again, folks. But we all know why he really cares about Lila’s birds, don’t we? Perhaps he’ll figure it out soon enough.
I will most definitely be ignoring my arrogant and totally incorrect conscience.
Much like I’m ignoring the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach as Lila pouts about the birds and how it makes me want to destroy any person who ever makes her feel this way again. Because none of that is happening right now.
Nothing to see here, folks. Just an FBI agent, who’s absolutelynotaching to haul Lila’s neighbor to jail for bird crimes, which may or may not be illegal.
Good thing we’re outside, considering all the bullshit our hero is spewing.
After Lila’s soaked up as much of my comfort as needed, she changes the subject. “Is that older guy from the casino your partner? Did you sic him on me?”
“We don’t have partners, technically. But essentially, it’s the same thing. Just not like a permanent assignment.”
She lowers her head, reminding me of her second question.
