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Mia thought she might be sick.
“Does she post much?” Jonas asked. He pointed a finger at the iPad.
“Lacey?”
“Yeah.”
Why the hell was he asking about his old girlfriend? The slut who had fucked his brother, then testified against him. “Not that I’ve noticed.” That was a lie. She’d kept track of Jonas’s ex, of course she had. It appeared that Lacey had moved on, went to college, got married, had a couple of kids. Living the perfect life somewhere in Beaverton, on the west side of the Willamette River, not too far from Portland, only minutes from the McIntyre mansion in the West Hills. Mia knew. Mia had made a point of knowing.
He took another swallow from his Coors.
Mia, tamping down a bit of annoyance, leaned across the tall table. “I want to show you something.”
“What?” He was starting to turn back to the screen.
“This.” She unbuttoned her sweater, exposing her breast, where, just a month ago, she’d added another tattoo.Free Jonaswas scripted just under her collarbone.
One of his eyebrows raised. “Cool.”
“I did it for you.”
“Yeah, I get it.” A hint of a smile in his beard-darkened jaw. “Cool.”
Cool? Are you kidding me?
He dragged his eyes up from the spot where her breast nearly spilled out of her sheer push-up bra. “Hey, Mia, look. I need a favor.”
“A favor?” she repeated.
“Yeah, I’ve got something I need to do. And I need a car. I thought I’d borrow yours.”
“You want my car?” She was stunned.
“Yeah, babe, just for a little while.”
Babe? Had he just called her babe? Like they were that familiar? “Why?”
“Errands. Hey, I’ve been locked up for a long while. I just need the car.” He lifted a shoulder and she found herself digging in her pocket for her keys. “I’ll drive you,” she offered. “Wherever you want to go.”
“No worries. I got this.” He snagged the keys from her hand. “This is something I have to do alone.” He was already striding—almost jogging, though limping just slightly, as he headed to the door. “I’ll be back.”
“When?”
“Don’t know.” He opened the door and didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder. “Don’t fuckin’ know.”
It wasn’t until Mia drained her beer and walked back to the kitchen to leave both bottles in the sink when she noticed a knife was missing. She told herself she was imagining things, but no, the closer she looked, the more sure she was that a knife was missing from the block that sat next to the stove—the set had been a hand-me-down from her mother and she knew without a doubt that the largest knife was gone. She looked at the counters and in a nearby drawer, her heart turning to ice. It was gone. The carving knife her father had used to slice the Thanksgiving turkey at every Thanksgiving dinner she’d ever sat through as a child was definitely missing, its slot in the block empty.
