“Hey,” he greeted softly.
“Hey back,” she said with a smile she could hardly contain. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep. Girls did great today. My mom got them to sleep around eight. They asked for pancakes in the morning.”
“Pancakes, huh? I didn’t know you were a pancake guy.”
“I’m not. Kaye’s cooking.”
Becs chuckled.
“How’s the field assignment going?”
“Good.” She leaned against the padded headboard. “Not much progress, but it’s an interesting case. Reese and Brantley did get confirmation that Deck was at the club with Saoirse. They’re convinced Deck hadn’t been working for her.”
“So he was hanging out?”
“Looks like it.” Becs worried her lip for a moment. “What do you think that means? Do you think he was here to meet someone else?”
“Here as in New York?”
“Yeah.” Becs couldn’t seem to see a clear picture. There were too many variables, and none of the pieces were lining up. It seemed the more they learned, the more convoluted it was becoming.
“I think it’s going to require some more information.”
Becs agreed. Now, it was a matter of figuring out where to get that information. They would find it. She had faith in the team. They were good at what they did, especially when they put all their minds together.
“Tomorrow’s a new day,” Becs mused, her smile growing as she listened to Evan breathe on the other end of the phone.
God, she missed him.
“I … um … I wanted to talk to you about … what happened last night.”
Becs felt her elation bubble pop. It was in the inflection of his words, a subtle but undeniable negative tone.
“Sure.” She swallowed past the ball of dread clogging her throat. “What’s up?”
He didn’t speak, but she could hear him breathing.
“Evan?”
“Sorry. I really don’t know how to say this.”
And there it was. The inevitableit’s me, not youspeech was coming, speeding toward her like a Mack truck. Becs had no desire to be in its path, so she decided to get there first.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she blurted. “I get it, Evan. I’m not expecting anything from you. That kiss … it was great, but I know it didn’t mean anything.”
“Becs…”
“No,” she said more firmly. “It’s not you, it’s me, I know. I’m not the—”
“Wow,” he grumbled. “I guess now I know where I stand with you, huh?”
“What?”
“You’ve got it all worked out in your head, Becs. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“No, I’m—”
