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He needed to stop staring and get the hell out of here.
Before he did something he’d regret.
“No. Forget it.” Hunter unclenched his fists and turned away.
“Hey,” called Michael. “Hunter.”
Hunter whirled, ready to be hassled. “What?”
Michael was swiping a credit card through the machine. “The guys are all busy this evening, and I’m already behind. Feel like helping me build a retaining wall?”
Hunter stared at him for a second. Lack of sleep and food was making him stupid. “I don’t—what?”
Michael looked up. “It’s easy work, it just takes a long time, and I don’t want to lose the light.” He paused. “If you’ve got somewhere else to be, don’t sweat it.”
Hunter stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had to be a trick here. Had to be. “You want me to help you?”
“Sure. I mean, I’ll pay you. Fifty bucks fair?”
Hunter almost choked on air. Fifty bucks? That would probably carry him into the weekend. If Michael wanted him to cut grass by pulling up individual strands, he’d do it.
But then he remembered Casper. “My dog is in the car.”
Michael slid the credit card back into his wallet. “Bring him. As long as he doesn’t dig up the landscaping, he won’t bother me. Meet me at the truck.”
CHAPTER 8
Michael made for quiet company. Aside from giving Hunter a ball cap with their company logo on it and saying, “This way you’ll look official,” he didn’t say anything. Hunter curled the hat in his hands and wondered if this was a mistake—but they were already driving, and he’d feel like an idiot backing out now. The truck windows were down, air streaming through the cab. Casper sat in the backseat but hung his head over Hunter’s shoulder to let the air blow his ears.
Hunter’s cell phone was in his pocket. No new messages.
“I don’t have any idea how to build a retaining wall,” he finally said.
“Then you’d better get out of the truck right now.”
Hunter figured he was kidding, but Michael’s voice was so flat he wasn’t sure.
Michael glanced over. “Can you keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re an expert at building retaining walls.” Michael hit the turn signal. They were pulling into a Wendy’s parking lot. “Hungry? Tell me what you want.”
Hunter hesitated. The thought of food was almost making him dizzy—but he didn’t want to spend his last nine dollars until he was sure Michael would be good for the fifty he’d promised.
But watching someone else eat would be the worst form of torture. Hunter reached into his pocket for his wallet.
“It’s on me,” said Michael. “Since you’re doing me a favor.”
“Whatever you’re having, then.”
It wasn’t until ten minutes later, when he had half a grilled chicken sandwich left in his hands, that his suspicion fully kicked in. “Why are you being nice to me?”
Michael pulled a handful of fries from the bag but didn’t glance away from the road. “Nice?”
“I thought you were all pissed at me because of what happened with Bill Chandler.”
Michael shrugged.
