“It’s not like that.”
“Okay good, because I will cut her.”
“It’s harmless.” I laugh even harder.
“Phew. I’m all talk and I actually liked her sassy ways. Also, I don’t even know where I’d find a shank on short notice…” She lets out a slow breath. “Just be careful there. I hate to sound jaded, but reporters, they can be ruthless.”
“I’m careful.”
She comes to a stop in front of her apartment and squeezes my arm. “I’m not good at it. But I would do it.”
“What?”
“Cut a bitch.” She punches my arm.
“Thanks.”
After she’s safe inside, I check my phone again. Still no word from Maggie.
That’s it. Maggie’s GPS shows her at the same location the last few times I checked. Giving her space is crucial but I need to make sure she’s okay.
* * *
Maggie
I haveto give it to the Asian Hipster—whose name, by the way, is Keith, color me disappointed. I expect something cool like Horatio or Vladimir. Anyway, Keith, to his credit, seems to handle the oppressive heat a lot better than I’d have thought. He sweats through, literally but probably also figuratively, as Zebulund fires one question after another at him.
“Where did you see her last?”
“Going into the old lady’s house.”
“And Roe was there?”
“He showed up later.” Keith wipes his brow.
“You let her follow you?”
He nods.
“When did you lose her?” Zebulund is pink and puffy like a turkey after a couple hours in the oven. His fake tan sparkles with sweat.
“I think about a block or two ago.”
“And you’re sure that you weren’t followed here?”
“I’m sure.” Sweaty Keith tugs his collar away from his neck and futilely plucks his shirt away from his chest. “But even if she saw me come in here, there’s no way of her getting in.”
“I’m aware.” Zebulund shoots him a textbook withering look.
Keith clears his throat.
“Have you figured out how they’re connected?” Zebulund cracks the knuckles on each of his fingers, one at a time, slowly and deliberately. I shudder.
Tonight is all about revelations. First and foremost, turns out I’m not as sneaky as I think I am when it comes to following people. Maybe I clomp loudly or something. And secondly, they’ve found out that Roe and I know each other. But I still haven’t figured out who they were following first; me or Roe. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
“I think she’s writing something on him. I’m not sure. They might be dating.”
My heart skips at the bad news. They know we are connected.
