“Gotta love a recycled man.”
Slash laughed as she glanced around the restaurant.
Is Greg still here watching me or did he bolt? Was Jilly his target?
Anger lodged in her heart. She sipped the chilled wine, letting it roll down her parched throat.
I will never stop hunting you. Never.
An hour and a half later, Slash pulled into Carrera’s garage. With the bag of fries in hand, she entered the house.
Laughter from the kitchen drew Slash in that direction. Sitting around the table were Carrera and Elsa. To her surprise Jazz and Russell were also there, a chocolate Pistachio cake in the center of the table.
This oughta be interesting.
“There she is,” Carrera said as he rose from the table. After giving her a kiss hello, he asked how her dinner was.
“Super chill,” she replied.
“Is that bag for me?” Elsa asked.
Slash set the bag on the table in front of Elsa, pulled a plate and the bottle of ketchup from the fridge. “Enjoy.”
Elsa got busy munching on fries. Slash wanted to start reviewing the surveillance video at Jericho Road, but she’d have to wait until Jazz and Russell left.
“We’re talking about the wedding,” Carrera rose from the table, held up the coffee pot. “More?”
Jazz and Russell declined.
“These are the best,” Elsa said between bites.
Slash pulled a mug, set it on the counter in front of Carrera. While he filled it, she offered a smile, but her thoughts were still anchored on Greg. Carrera kissed the top of her head.
“You two are super cute together,” Jazz said. “It’s totally weird to see you like this. I mean you’ve been hating on each other so long.” She regarded Slash. “I’m happy for you. I mean that.”
Slash nodded, grateful Jazz had finally stopped thinking of her as the she-devil.
Russell’s phone rang. “I’ve got to take this.” He pushed out of the chair. “Russell Fitzpatrick.” He meandered toward the front of the house while talking.
“G-ma said you moved in here,” Jazz said to Slash.
Here comes a ration of shit.
“Just until your grandmother is settled,” Slash said.
“You’re not leaving,” Carrera said.
“I agree.” Elsa pushed the plate away. “I’m going to save some for tomorrow.”
“They never taste the same the next day, G-ma,” Jazz said.
“Do you want some?” G-ma asked.
“No, I’m stuffed from lasagna,” Jazz forked a bite of chocolate cake into her mouth. “Russell surprised me. He’d planned to campaign all evening, but he got home in time for dinner.”
“When’s the special election?” G-ma asked.
“Two weeks,” Jazz replied. “He’s so far ahead in the polls, there’s no way he won’t get elected.” After a beat, she said, “Slash, can I talk to you real quick?”
