“Look. I didn’t mean to blurt it out. Sometimes shit comes outta my mouth before I can think it through.”
“I don’t like Becs,” Slade said, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed.
Atticus backed up a step, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Got it. You don’t like her. I’ll never mention it again.”
He exhaled and dropped his hands, considering taking the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator while the air chilled to negative temperatures. It was safe to say Slade was definitely acting weird. Or if maybe not weird, he was acting very … unSladelike.
But then the doors to the elevator opened, revealing,guess who? Becs, who Slade doesn’tlike, and Evan. Woohoo.
“Fancy meetin’ you here,” Slade said. “Where’re y’all headed?”
Atticus stepped in and to the side, leaving space in front of the doors as he waited for one of them to answer Slade.
Becs looked at Evan.
“To Chelsea,” Evan said flatly.
“Chelsea?” Slade glanced between the pair. “To do somethin’ fun?”
“To chase down a lead.”
“No shit?” Atticus stood up straight.
Chasing down a lead beat going to the hotel bar with Slade, whose attitude was snippy because he didn’tlikeBecs.
Sure, Atticus could’ve gotten past that part, but that wasn’t his only issue with the man. A small part of him was still a little pissed at Slade for his reaction at Moonshiners the other night.
Atticus smiled at Becs and Evan. “Want company?”
“Sure,” Evan stated, his eyes straight ahead as though looking at them would cause physical pain.
“Are you sure we didn’t interrupt somethin’? Slade asked.
Becs’s smile was forced at first, but then her expression softened. “Not at all.”
“Who came up with the lead?” Atticus asked, simply because he thought they all might suffocate from the awkward tension if he didn’t.
“Becs did.” Evan nudged her arm. “Tell them.”
Atticus listened as Becs told a story about a conversation she remembered having with Decker and about how she’d called several hotels pretending to be Decker’s assistant, attempting to reconcile his credit card charges.
He remembered plenty of times he called someone, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, to chase down a criminal who’d skipped out on their bail.
While Becs talked, they headed through the hotel lobby and out to the street.
“Cab or subway?” Becs asked.
“How far is it?” Atticus inquired.
“About two miles.”
“I’m game for the subway,” Slade answered.
“Me, too,” Atticus chimed. He’d never been on the subway before. He figured now would be a good time to check it out just to say he did.
They walked two blocks to the 7thAvenue station, then underground.
It was exactly as it was shown to be on television. A little dim and a lot dirty. Atticus couldn’t help but think about all those fictional crime shows when someone would get shoved to their deaths off the subway platform in front of a train.
