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I glance at the clock. She’s not wrong. It’s early enough that any self-respecting dog is begging for a bathroom break, and maybe I can catch Paigelynn outside.
As I stand, Debbie shakes her head and looks for the coffeemaker. “I’m running a frat house. Now I live here. Glorified house mother.”
“You’re anything but maternal,” I mutter. Something ripples across her face, the way she changes making me feel unsteady.
“Fuck off, Cam. Go run until you puke your guts out.”
“Yes, sir.” Whatever hair’s up her ass doesn’t matter if it means I can go watch for Paigelynn.
A quick look at my wardrobe shows I’m all out of sweats, so jeans it is, which means I can pack my gun. Dread washes over me as I reach for it, tucked away in a tiny fake pocket in my duffel bag. No one knows I have it. It’s not registered, and it’s untraceable. No metal detector can find it either.
Thank God for 3D printers and creative guys on 4Chan. The damn thing looks like a pen, hides in my palm, and no one here knows about it. It gives me one shot at close range, but that’s all I’ll need.
All my ID and money go into my pockets as well.
And a tiny pen knife, just in case, that has a USB drive filled with illegal decryption protocols.
But I only need the blade.
I grab both my phones – the one for calling Debbie, and the one I never want to use – and head out, knowing I may never see any of these people again. Every time I see Paigelynn I up the ante that I’ll be discovered.
I’m a gambling man, but I also know when the odds are stacked against me.
“HEY!”
Debbie’s shout makes me freeze.
“Take Butter with you. Poor old boy needs a good run.” She frowns at me. “Jeans? For a run?”
“I’m out of clean workout clothes. I can throw on the ones I wore yesterday.”
“Not unless you want cholera or something. Those clothes can be added to water and generate life on their own, Cam. Gross. Just take the dog for a long walk. Lauren caught him peeing on the leg of her desk this morning.”
“He’s marking territory.”
“Trust me. I’ve worked with plenty of males, human and canine. You all do it in a new place. Dogs are just obvious about it.”
At the mention of his name, Butter’s on me, nosing my legs.
Taking the dog with me is a mixed bag. I wasn’t planning to abandon him with the crew. I’m not an asshole.
At the same time, if I have to make a swift getaway with Paigelynn, the dog will be a complication.
Yeah, getaway.
Everything’s about to go down.
Bringing Butter means I have a built-in excuse. Maybe I can pretend to be a dog trainer. Waltz on up the sidewalk, knock on the door, and pretend I’m someone Paigelynn called. No self-respecting bodyguard would ever buy it, but it might be enough to get in the door and case the situation.
“Hey, bud. Leash,” I tell him, testing our new trick. As expected, he trots over to my desk, finds the leash, and brings it to me in his mouth.
Debbie smiles. “Can you work on teaching Newman some new tricks? Like how to get his food garbage in the actual trash can?”
“Way out of my pay grade.”
Her collegial laugh makes me feel bad for a split second, but only for a split second. Getting attached to people is how you fuck up.
I don’t have the wiggle room to fuck this situation up. I either succeed, or I die.
