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I squint. “A houseplant?”
“Yeah. I kill things.” He winces. “I mean, I’m bad at keeping things alive.” His feet shift awkwardly. “You get what I’m saying.”
Um…maybe I follow. He works a bunch and he’s not the most nurturing soul. Clearly, he has an affinity for Blakely, though, so I guess I can assume he didn’t just admit to being a psychopath.
As the conversation stalls, the dog wiggles and yaps. I want so badly to cuddle—Blakely, that is—but in John’s arms, he feels out of reach. “You know, I’m sorry. I better take this guy home. He’s not supposed to be out here. Hold on a second.”
John gives a final pat to Blakely’s furry head. “Looks like no treats tonight, bud.”
We make the doggie transfer—I swear he absorbed all of John’s cologne during their brief encounter—and I’ve made a half-dozen steps toward the large Victorian when Alice Parsons, my landlady, crosses the driveway, her bleached hair in perfect place even at the end of a long day. She’s in her fifties, the president of a bank in town, and is always dressed to the nines. We don’t have much in common.
“Here you are, you little stinker.” She relieves me of Blakely’s weight, taking note of John first, then eyeing me. “Is everything alright, Hollie?”
I sketch on a smile. She’s unused to me having guests, men for sure, but the badge and gun are probably snagging her concern as much as anything. “Of course. John is a…friend.” Yes, I trip over the word, which doesn’t feel entirely accurate. But I’m not going into details. She needs no reason to worry Jacob and I have brought trouble to her doorstep.
Alice goes inside, and I return to John. “Sorry again for the interruption. Now. You were saying?”
His eyes lock with mine, watching me for an unnaturally long moment. Like the last time Blakely crashed into one of our conversations, I can’t figure what he’s thinking, and the ground feels…shifty…all of a sudden. Finally, he brushes at the white hairs on his coat, sighs, and reverts to man-in-charge mode. “I’ve got a friend, an attorney I want to put you in touch with.”
Right. Back to that mess. I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“You don’t have time to waste, Hollie.”
I can’t afford an attorney. A few more extra shifts and I can at least get the ball rolling, though many extra shifts loom in my future to keep it moving.
“If it’s money—”
Steam builds. “John…when I’m ready.” I pull out the mother face that used to work well on Jacob, and from time to time, surprisingly well on the occasional unruly customer.
Figures this wouldn’t be one of those times.
John reaches into his shirt pocket and produces a business card. “Call him, Hollie. Now. This isn’t child’s play. Money won’t be an issue.”
“It’s always an issue.” Oh, I sound pathetic.
His deep brown gaze holds steady. “Well, not this time. Ben owes me.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not taking charity.”
“It won’t be charity. I told you. He owes me a favor.”
“It’s still charity because it’syourfavor.” Oh, don’t I sound like the harebrained heroine in a movie, the one who’d rather die than take help when it’s offered?
His shiny loafer thumps the pavement. “You asked for my help.”
“Yours, not someone else’s.” At the moment, I question even that decision.
“Hollie, don’t be stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
At least he looks chagrined—okay, mildly uncomfortable. Even that’s an anomaly for him.
“You heard me. Your kid can’t afford to mess around here. The sooner he has someone on his side—”
I jab my chest. “I’m on his side.”
“Gimme a break.” His eyes roll to the murky sky. “He needs more than you!”
