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“There’s a first time for everything.”
She loads up a hand basket with the treats. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I dig it out, expecting it to be Jax calling me out on my shit. Instead, it’s Malloy.
“Talk to me,” I say after pushing the button.
“I’ve been checking up on our mutual friend Wyatt. I’m sorry, but there’s zero evidence he’s involved with the cult. Zip. Nothing. Nada.”
I purse my lips tightly. I am inclined to believe that Wyatt is clean, based on his goofy, drug addled behavior, but something still doesn’t feel right.
“Are you sure?”
“Gray, buddy, I was at his manor house on the night that the hack happened. Wyatt didn’t do anything but wander around talking his nonsense philosophy to anyone who would listen. I’m sorry, he’s just not your guy.”
I heave a long sigh, and rub my tired eyes.
“Thanks, Malloy. Keep me posted if anything else turns up, will you?”
“Of course.”
I end the call and find that Charlotte has moved on to the drinks section. She holds up a bottle of something pink.
“Prickly pear soda. Have you ever tried it?”
I laugh and take the bottle from her hand.
“I have a feeling that I'm about to.”
“That’s right. Resistance is futile.”
Her smile takes my breath away. It’s so hard to be this close to her, but not to be able to do anything about it. She’s my client. I’m supposed to keep her safe, not ogle her and fantasize like a lovesick teenager.
I tilt the drink back, stomach braced for the deluge of sugary sweetness. Instead, I’m pleasantly surprised by a mild, tangy flavor that cools my dry throat. She smiles and arches her brows.
“Well?”
“It’s good. In fact, it’s probably the best soft drink I’ve ever had.”
“I knew you’d like it.”
We’re getting along well now. I feel bad about getting sullen before. I always get that way when the subject of my sister comes up.
We return to the Jeep. I turn the key, and the engine struggles for a good ten seconds before turning over.
“Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine.”
I pat the dashboard.
“There’s life in the old girl yet.”
We pull back onto the highway. Once we leave the lights and sounds of the truck stop behind us, the darkness and lack of conversation grows oppressive. I want to say something to clear the air between us.
Charlotte is probably upset because of the way I’ve distanced myself every time the subject of my sister comes up in conversation. If I really want to make things up to her, I need to open up.
I fight down a stab of anxiety. Opening myself up isn’t something I’m used to doing. Even with the other guys at Platinum Security there exists a certain distance.
I don’t want there to be distance between Charlotte and I. Not anymore.
