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I straighten. “When?”

“Soon.”

That means it's already a problem.

“What happened?”

“Target came onto the radar forty-eight hours ago. Client wants it handled before he leaves the area.”

“Where?”

There's a beat of silence.

“Hollow Creek.”

Every muscle in my body goes still. “No.”

Silence.

Then Bishop says, “That wasn't a question.”

“Send Beck.”

“Beck isn't available.”

“Then send someone else.”

“You're already there.”

“How do you fucking know that?”

I practically hear Bishop smirk. “I didn’t. You just told me.”

Son of a bitch.

I don’t fuck up like this.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I pull up to the house I’m renting and cut the engine. I lean back in the seat. The quiet street. Leaves flutter down from the trees. Someone goes inside the house across the road.

Hollow Creek. Callie's town.

“What aren't you telling me?” Bishop asks.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you suddenly give a shit about the job in Hollow Creek?”

“I don't work where I live.”

“You don't live there.”

My jaw tightens. “No. I don't.”

“You're in a short-term rental.”

Of course he fucking knows.