“What I’m saying is that I don’t want to continue whatever this is.” She gestures between us.
“I parked your car in one of the guest spots.”
She goes silent, and I wait for her to ask how I knew where her car was or how I was able to get it here. Only, she doesn’t.
“Did you hire that private investigator to follow me?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you found the tracker, and I need to know where you are. It wasn’t cool of you to sneak away. When this goes public, it will be even more important for me to know—”
“Public? No. After tonight, I don’t want to see you again. And no one knows who you are.”
“Not yet, but it’s time, sweetheart.”
“Please, don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Look, you can track me too. Give me your phone.”
“No,” she says. “I don’t want to track you.”
My phone buzzes with an email. I look through and text back my approval.
“I’m going to walk Finch after I eat, and I’ll be back. Do you want to walk with me?”
“I don’t ever want to pick up dog shit,” she snaps. “And I told you not to bring this beast over here.”
Finch growls, and I rub her head.
“Sweetheart, I told you the first day we met that I wasn’t getting rid of the dog.”
“Don’t get rid of her. There are millions of women out there who love dogs. Find one. Just get yourself and that mutt out of my life.” She stands and points at the door. “Go.”
I resume eating.
“What do I have to do to get you to go?”
“That’s easy. Leave with me.”
She takes a step back and slaps both hands on her face. Once I’m done, I throw away the container, wash my hands, andwhistle for my dog. I put the leash on her and walk out without a word.
“Any update on Devin Lamb?” Preacher’s television is on full blast. He yells at something, and then it falls silent.
“The little thief has been the model employee for the past month.” That’s not what I want to hear. For this to work, I need him to be the fuck up that he’s always been. “He’s on time and is very charming to the women who come into the shop.”
“Well, figure out a way to—”
“Why do you want him to steal from you so bad?”
“Just figure out a way. Tempt him. Do something.”
“What are you up to?” he presses.
I don’t answer to anyone, but I do respect Preacher and Ripley. Ripley doesn’t ask questions. He’s shrewd and doesn’t need to ask. He seems to always know. In fact, if he weren’t so caught up with his fiancée and her recovery, he would have put this together.
Preacher is shrewd, too, but in a different way. He’s textbook smart. Despite working for me, he has an Ivy League education. After graduating, he enrolled in seminary school, but he dropped out after a few months. I have no idea why, and he never talks about it.
