Perfect.
CHAPTER 5
Wayne does not like chit-chat I learn as he leads me through the show barn, past a narrow table near the door and then rows of pens, broken up with the occasional aisle to allow people to move between the rows. I try a few pleasantries on him, but after getting only grunts in response, I lapse into silence.
He stops in front of a pen toward the middle of the barn and stands there, hands on his thin hips, elbows jutting out from the short sleeves of his oversized checked button-up. He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d known this was what I was going to have to work with.”
I peer into the pen. It’s…a pig. A large white-and-black pig, covered all over with wiry-looking hair. I’m not sure exactly what it is that’s making Wayne shake his head, but I guess my pig isn’t quite up to snuff.
And then the pig turns its head and a pair of sharp blue eyes meet mine.
I know, of course, that Grayson and the pig are one and the same. Still, it’s a bit of a shock to realize the guy I just had lunch with has changed into an actual pig.
“He’s too small,” Wayne complains beside me. “You’re going to have to work to get him to gain weight.”
If this pig is too small, I’m not sure I want to see what the bigger pigs look like. He looks massive to me.
“I’ve worked with champions, you know,” Wayne continues, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself. “Last year I worked with Starhill Farms’ Snowball’s Chance in Hell. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures.”
I haven’t. Nor do I care about what pig won what last year. But I can’t say that to Wayne. I’m supposed to be someone so interested in pig shows I’m paying a consultant. “Of course. Why do you think I hired you?”
That appears to have been the wrong thing to say. Wayne’s arms drop, his back rigid with tension and maybe the effort of trying to stay upright with that giant-ass belt buckle throwing off his balance. “You hired me because I was the only one available three days before the show.”
I mean, that wasn’t why, but?—
“It was a dare.” Wayne whirls toward me, gesturing wildly with his hands. “It’s not like I make a habit of stealing carts from the Piggly-Wiggly and doing pigs races past the mayor’s house. You can’t just not do a dare. You’ll lose Truth or Dare if you do.”
Okay. So not only am I relying on a kid to help me in the single most important operation of my career, but he’s also something of a juvenile delinquent. Excellent.
“I’m sure?—”
But with that outburst behind him, Wayne is done with sharing. “If we’re going to have a chance, we need to get started. Let’s get him out and see what we’re dealing with.”
He stands back and I realize he’s waiting for me to open the pen and let Grayson out. I fumble with the latch on the door and swing it open.
Grayson just stands there, regarding me with those cold blue eyes.
“Um, come on out, piggy,” I say, wincing a little at the word “piggy.”
Wayne looks unimpressed. “Does he know his name?”
“Um…” Do pigs know their names? Do pigs even have names. “Yes?”
“Maybe try using that then.”
“Right. Come on…” I spent so much time on my own back story that I didn’t bother to come up with any for Grayson.
Sweet leaping unicorns of Ireland, Jensen. Get yourself together.
“Petunia,” I finish lamely.
Wayne stares at me. “His name is Petunia?”
I’m getting tired of being second-guessed. Sure, Petunia is a dumb name for a boy pig, but who cares? It’s a pig. He doesn’t know that his name is dumb.
Although given the way Grayson’s eyes have narrowed, he is fully aware of just how dumb his new name is. It serves him right, honestly.
“Yes,” I say. “When he was born, his boy parts were super, super tiny so we couldn’t tell he was a boy.” In his pen, Grayson the pig makes a low growling sound that means I should probably shut up or at least close the door to his pen. But he’s law enforcement-adjacent, right? No matter how annoying they are, you can’t just trample your partner. I think that’s MBI Handbook Rule #7. So I make direct eye contact with the seething pig and add, “I mean, we’re talking microscopic.”
