Page 21 of Dozer

"That's not a genre."

"I know."

"So you don't listen to music?" He doesn’t do road trip snacks or listen to music? I’m really leaning into my theory that he’s a serial killer.

"I do."

"What kind?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"The mission."

I stare at him. "You're telling me you have mission-specific playlists."

"No."

"Because that would actually be extremely cool." I have playlists for each mood that I’m in, but I don’t volunteer that information.

"No playlists."

"Do you even know how playlists work?"

"Yes."

"Do you use one?"

"No."

"Then you don't know how playlists work."

He glances at me. There's that almost-smile again, I grin. "Got you."

"Congratulations."

"I'd like a certificate."

"I'll see what I can do."

I sit back. Okay. This is fun. Dangerous, but fun. And for the first time since Hunter called me, I don't feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like I'm on a road trip.

Which is ridiculous.

We're on a mission to transport a dead man under classified circumstances because somebody wants whatever evidence is hidden inside his body badly enough to kill for it.

But for a few minutes, I'm just a woman in a truck with a quiet man who apparently has a sense of humor buried somewhere under all that muscle.

I can work with that.

We stopped briefly for a quick lunch and now we’re back on the road and headed towards D.C. It’s going to be a long trip if something doesn’t give. The silence is killing me and I wish I’d brought my earpods. Of course, I wouldn’t put them in, that would be rude.

Instead, I keep talking. Somebody has to fill the silence. It’s obviously not going to be him, so it might as well be me. I tell him about a case I worked, where a suspect tried to hide malware inside a children's educational game. I tell him about the time Dexter deleted three hours of code because he decided the keyboard was the perfect place to make biscuits with his paws. I tell him about my theory that every government building has exactly one bathroom stall with a broken lock and that it's probably a conspiracy.

Dozer contributes approximately twelve words. I consider this a victory. Then, he surprises me. "Tell me more about your cat."

I blink. "What?"