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“I’m taking Art History 101 on Tuesdays and Thursdays at one. Are you teaching it?” Well, I had some conflicted feelings about that possibility.
“No. How about coffee after your lecture on Thursday? I’m free until four.”
“Sure,” I managed to say nonchalantly while telling myself firmly it was not a date. “Tell me about what you’re teaching.”
We finished eating with chitchat about the four main styles of Roman wall painting and his favorite books on the subject—a part of my coming coursework. Peter helped me to clean up a bit then kissed my cheek and left.
I watched him walk away, a little flutter in my chest and my lips parted. Then Tyrese hustled in with a list of details to go over and I poured myself another glass of wine. I sat down at the table with him to receive my lecture.
Getting myself and Charley settled into my room for the night took a small age but at last he was in his kennel, on a special cushion with extra blankets, and he let out a shuddering sigh, still and silent at last. I turned off the light. My phone lit up with a text message.
Hank: I’ll be up for a visit as soon as I have three days free in a row. Hold on, love. I’ll be there soon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Charley, it turned out, woke up even earlier than I did. I groaned and pressed my pillow over my face—it was still pitch-black outside, and my alarm was an hour and a half away.
“Okay, pup, you get a pass this time. As long as you don’t pee inside the house.” I got myself up and into a robe and slippers then opened his kennel.
With an excited bark, Charley dashed out then zinged around the room, only pausing long enough to lick my hand. “Honestly, you’re a dang handful. And you need more sleep.”
I stumbled out into the hall, switching on lights as I went and trying to shush Charley. He tore around the house yapping and jumping on things.
Eventually, I got the leash on him, and he rushed us out the front door. All kinds of cameras pointed at me. I suppressed the urge to wave at them. Tyrese opened the front door, scowling, wearing sweatpants and a jacket.
“Morning,” I called. Charley barked at him a few times before going back to intensely sniffing car tires.
He grumbled something and shoved his hands in his pockets.
After another ten minutes of the front yard, I turned toward the house. “Come on, boy, I’ll take you out back while I work out.”
Charley did his best to fall in the pool even though I kept him on his leash and away from the water. We narrowly avoided disaster and instead walked around the backyard about ten times while Tyrese scanned the area and checked on the camera equipment. Eventually, Charley settled down on his outdoor dog pillow with a bowl of water.
When Tyrese came over and started lifting, his eyes still on the fence line, I said, “Have you guys caught any sign of Miller?”
“Not directly. A white truck did drive by late last night.”
“How do you think he’s doing this? Where is he staying?”
Tyrese squinted. “He’s a wanted terrorist and high priority for the US Marshals and law enforcement in general.”
“Right,” I said. “He’s been on the run, with a vehicle, for weeks.”
“Cash. Fake identity probably. Switched out or cloned license plates. Miller was prepared. I bet he’s sleeping in his truck, maybe joining migrant camps, or moving around in the public forests out here.”
I drank from my water bottle, sweat starting to run down the back of my neck. “He looked real dirty.”
“Yep.” Tyrese curled up a heavy dumbbell. “I bet he’s missing taking a shower and having clean clothes. River and lake water is cold and fishy.”
Pedaling harder, I put my head down while the stationary bike’s wheels buzzed. Miller’s resources must be dwindling. Which meant he would be getting desperate.
Classes, dog, and working out to stay sane became my lifefor the rest of that week. On Wednesday, Amber met me for lunch. I was relieved to see her standing straight and proud, a sunny smile on her face when we hugged.
“How are you?” she asked as we sat down at our table. “Is Charley settling in?”
I shuddered, theatrically. “The naughty little devil sneaks into the kitchen every chance he gets and tries to steal food—as if I’m not feeding him the best dog food I can find. He knocked over the trash can yesterday. He’s bonkers.”
She made a horrified face. “Reminds me why I prefer cats.”
