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Don’t look, sailor, do not fucking look.I looked.
“I should have done more.” The lump of shame grew thicker as I rasped out the confession. Shame for failing Ray and shame for being so attracted to her. It was time to get my shit together.
“More is putting that thing on my car?”
“The tracker was all I could think to do on short notice. How did you even find it?”
“Flat tire. What did you learn?”
I blinked, trying to logic my way through the question to an answer she would accept. What had I learned? Put two devices on the subject’s vehicle. Yeah, learned that years ago. Second, hope she didn’t take her car to a mechanic to fix the flat because, on an auto lift, my other tracker would be easy to find.
What else? I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“What did you learn about me?” She enunciated each word with deliberate slowness.
“You get up early and take the dog—“
“His name is Onyx.” The dog’s focus blinked from me to her at his name.
“To take Onyx to the park.”
“And?”
“You get takeout.”
“And?”
“Buy groceries.” I shrugged. That was it. She went to work, the dog park, Publix, and got takeout. Her life was eerily similar to mine. All work. Very little play. She had the dog, and I worked out and flipped houses.
And based on the dirt streaks on her clothes and cheek, I learned she didn’t have a man to call for help with a flat tire. So, she was single. Good to know.
“I’m not a failed mission.” Her voice was softer. The anger had receded. She smoothed her hair, pushing loose strands back into her haphazard bun.
If she only knew the whole story. She absolutely was a failed mission. Her life situation and Ray’s death were the fallout of a failed mission. I was determined to step up and fix what I could. Better late than never.
“Amber Lee, I’m sorry.”
The ding of a kitchen timer interrupted me before I could try and formulate a bullshit apology that might appease her. I wasn’t ready to walk her through my view of the situation. Not tonight, not any night. It was classified.
“Would you let me feed you dinner? A peace offering.”
She looked skeptical but sniffed the air. Onyx seemed to do the same, his black nose twitching.
“It smells good.” She was hesitant. I recalled Mrs. Vance calling her a picky eater.
“A classic. Roasted chicken and veggies. I have plenty to share. Looking at your clothes, you had a shitty day. Let me feed you.” I pointed to the dirt on her knees and tried to look contrite.
I liked the idea of feeding her and making her feel better after a bad day, even if I’d been a big part of the problem.
“Momma always said if someone offered free supper, you eat it.” Her Oklahoma twang was so thick it was comical. She’d uncrossed her arms, but her shoulders remained stiff, not the body language of an old friend come to dinner. But at least she wasn’t trying to gouge out my heart with her fingernail.
I stepped away from the dining room table and moved toward the kitchen. I didn’t have to look back to see if she followed; Onyx’s nails clicked on the terrazzo like rain on a tin roof.
Chapter 8
Lee
Thedelicioussmellsfromthe kitchen encouraged me to follow him through his house. I glanced around, noting the little details that might give me insights into my pseudo-stalker and his life. I was letting him off easy with a sucker punch, a one-word apology, and dinner. I hoped I didn’t come to regret it.
