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Chaos: Daddy?

I close my eyes.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Me: Callie.

Chaos:

Chaos: You didn't hate having me there.

My thumb stills over the screen.

I look at the empty passenger seat. Then I look at the bag of jerky on the console.

Me: You were a pain in the ass.

Chaos: That's not a no.

I don't respond.

Chaos: We should do it again.

Me: No.

Chaos: Okay.

I stare at the word.

Nothing about that Okay feels trustworthy.

Me: I mean it.

Chaos: Goodnight, Hot Lips.

My mouth twitches.

I lock the phone, drop it onto the console, and stare through the windshield. The truck is quiet again. Too fucking quiet.

I reach for the jerky. Mercer's front door opens. My hand stops. The amusement disappears instantly.

He steps outside, pausing on the porch long enough to scan the street.

I don't move. Don't look directly at him. My gaze stays unfocused through the windshield while I track him in my peripheral vision.

He walks toward his car.

His jacket shifts when he reaches for the door. Metal catches beneath the streetlight.

My attention sharpens.

Gun. Holstered at his right hip. Concealed well enough that most people wouldn't notice.

Mercer gets behind the wheel.

A few seconds later, his headlights come on.

He pulls away.