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Yes, he would be furious. “He’s working on another appeal.”

The faint lines near Hunter’s mouth deepened.

“He won’t talk to you,” she told him. “You’re a stranger. He’ll talk to me.” Shelby knew this with certainty.

“Fuck.”

Yes.

“We’ll investigate here in town first,” he growled. “Then we’ll see the psychotic ex. Together, got me? You go nowhere without me.”

Sounded like a fine plan to her. What was the point in having a bodyguard if you planned to ditch him? She’d prefer to keep the big, strong, tough bodyguard at her side, thank you very much.

Sure, she had a taser and mace in her purse, but the bodyguard with the gun that she knew he’d brought along on their trip? Yes, yes, please. She’d like him for protection.

Honestly, she just liked having Hunter close. He made her feel safe.

And that was the moment when she realized that he was caressing her. She looked down. So did he.

Slowly, he let her go.

She fumbled, reaching for the door handle again even as he exited the vehicle. She’d just managed to shove open her door when he appeared on the passenger side of the SUV, pulling the door open wider and offering her his hand.

She took it. They headed for the diner’s entrance. Maybe her steps were a little too slow because it felt surreal coming back to this place.

“Think you’re going to be recognized?” Hunter asked as his head dipped toward her.

It had been seven years. She wasn’t the same girl. Darker hair. More slender build. Older. Wiser? “Hopefully not.” A shake of her head. Besides, the place looked deserted.

With his free hand, he opened the door. She crossed the threshold, and it was truly like stepping back in time. Because this place—this diner—had not changed. Same black tables. Same bright red booths. Red bar stools near the counter. Big, red lights hanging down from the ceiling. Black and white checkerboard floors.

The diner looked like something straight out of the 1950s, and that had always been part of its charm. A jukebox even played in the corner, the song only a little scratchy. She could smell French fries when she stepped inside and see the big sign advertising HOT DOGS and ICE CREAM. Once upon a time, she’d loved this place.

As if by instinct, she moved toward the back booth. For a moment, she could hear laughter in her mind. She could see Margot pointing at her with a fry as she explained her grand life plan. Tonya would sip slowly on her chocolate milkshake before declaring it was the most divine drink in the world.

Tears filled her eyes, and Shelby blinked quickly as they passed the lone patron in that place, a college-aged girl with blond hair who sat at a table, munching on fries as she leaned toward the laptop in front of her. The girl’s phone was close by, right next to a vanilla shake. Ear buds were in her ears, her hair pulled back into a messy bun.

The girl barely glanced at Shelby, her attention seemingly focused on the laptop.

Shelby hurried toward the back booth. She slid onto the red cushion, her breath expelling quickly.

Hunter eased into position across from her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The ghost of her former self, maybe. The ghosts of her friends. The whispers of their old laughter seemed even stronger in that booth. Her hands smoothed over the surface of the table.

“Don’t you dare ever take Nate back, Shelby. He’s a loser, straight to his soul.” Aisha’s voice. So much certainty in her tone. “He’s worthless. I can’t believe he cheated on you. What an utter loser.”

And…

Margot had not said a word. Because the others hadn’t known that Margot had been the girl who⁠—

“Hi, there.” A woman in a pink uniform approached with a tray in her hands and a smile on her face. Gray tendrils peeked through the darkness of her hair. She balanced the tray with easy grace. A water pitcher. Two glasses filled with ice. She beamed first at Hunter, then turned her attention to⁠—

The tray fell from the woman’s hands. It hit the floor, and the glasses shattered.

“OhmyGod!” The woman stared at Shelby with stunned recognition in her blue eyes.

Shelby had recognized the waitress, too. Waitress—no, the owner of the diner. Rochelle Kaper. Ms. Rochelle. Everyone always called her Ms. Rochelle.