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“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Thinking shit.”

His mouth twitches.

“Keep it to yourself.”

“Your girlfriend really did a number on you.”

I stop. “She isn't my girlfriend.”

Smoke looks around the room. His eyes land on the dog bed. Then the toys. Then the leash in my hand. And finally back to me.

“Right.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs.

I grab the rest of Alibi's shit.

“Let's go.”

Bishop's secure property sits far enough outside Hollow Creek that the nearest neighbor isn't visible through the trees. He owns places like this in multiple states. I've never asked how many. I don't want to know.

The house looks deliberately forgettable. One story. Gray siding. Detached garage. Nothing that makes anyone driving past look twice.

Two of Bishop's people are already there when I pull in.

Smoke looks through the windshield. “This is the safe house?”

“Yeah.”

“It looks like my grandmother should live here.”

“That's the point.”

“She'd hate those shutters.”

I look at him. “What?”

“Just saying.”

I get out.

Alibi climbs over the center console.

“Stay.”

I shut the door.

He stares at me through the windshield, giving me those sad eyes.