Page 79 of It Runs in the Family

“Six,” Garrett called from the kitchen.

“I thought you went to work at eight.”

He appeared in the doorway, wearing gym shorts and a plain gray T-shirt. “I do, but I’m going to the gym.”

I covered my head with the pillow and let out a muffled, “Why?”

“So I’ll be ready for Hot Boy Summer.”

“That’s not a thing,” I mumbled, not sure if he’d heard me.

“It’s gonna be a thing. Come on. Get up. You’re goin’ with me.”

That caught my attention. I lifted the pillow and glared at him, my cheek still pressed to the sofa. “Say what?”

“Come on. I need to work out, and you need…” His voice trailed off as I slowly sat up.

“Go on, Garrett,” I said in a deadly tone. “I need what?”

He lifted the mug in his hand. “I need more coffee.”

“That’s right,” I called after him. “You better run.”

But I had to wonder if maybe he was right. I rarely exercised, and if, God forbid, that man found me and tried to kidnap me, I might fare better if I’d been running on the treadmill and building up my endurance.

I’d just sat up, wondering what I could wear to the gym, when Garrett’s phone rang. He answered with a professional “Deputy Riggs.”

Then, after a few moments of silence, he said. “I’ll be right in.”

Seconds later, he was in the doorway again with a grim expression. “I got called in early.”

“What happened?” I asked, my heart in my throat. While I wasn’t privy to all the details of Garrett’s life, I’d only heard of him getting called in early twice—once for a tragic car accident involving two carloads of teens and, two years before that, a double murder.

He forced a smile that looked like a Benadryl-drunk six-year-old had painted it on him. “Nothin’s wrong. I just need to go in early. But I haven’t figured out what to do with you.”

“What do you mean, ‘what to do with me’?”

He started down the hall to his room. “I don’t want to leave you alone, and the person I lined up to stay with you won’t be able to pick you up until nine.”

“You arranged for someone to babysit me?” I called after him.

“It’s not babysitting, Irie,” he said from his room, his voice muffled. “But it’s not a good idea for you to be alone.”

“No one’s gonna look for me here.” I got to my feet and stood at the entrance to the short hall. “Who did you call?”

He didn’t answer.

My heart kicked up. That wasn’t good. “Who did you call, Garrett?” I demanded.

The sink faucet in the bathroom turned on, and I realized he’d slipped into it through the adjoining door from his room.

Chicken shit. Why wouldn’t he tell me who he’d called?

It had to be one of the cousins. Or my aunts. But two of my aunts had full-time day jobs, including his mother, and God knew Aunt Millie didn’t want hide nor hair to do with me, so that probably left the cousins. I ran through a list of who’d be available on a Monday. Rita? She was still on maternity leave, albeit unpaid since she worked for Walmart. As long as John Jacob was at work, it wouldn’t be that bad. But what excuse had Garrett used when he’d asked her?

When he emerged five minutes later, I was waiting for him, standing in the middle of the hall. I took in his shiny, clean-shaven face and neatly pressed uniform.

“Who’s babysitting me, Garrett?” I demanded as he brushed past me, all business.