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“What did he say? Did he see the guy?”
“No,” Jesse replies.
“But how? It’s Savage. His past is kind of like… shady or whatever, but he’s ex-military, right?”
“Navy SEAL,” Jesse says. “And he’s not a slacker. He followed Billy from the house to the diner and back again.”
My eyes widen.
“I didn’t see him.”
Jesse checks his phone and then pockets it.
“Here’s the thing,” he says. “Savage saw Billy leave through the back door of his house and come over here. But he didn’t see anyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nobody except for Billy went in or out. Not even his roommates,” Jesse replies.
“But— Could he be wrong? Could Savage be wrong?”
Jesse gives me a pensive look.
“Something’s up. The fact that no one went into the house makes me suspicious. Could Billy have hurt himself?” he asks.
“Hurt himself?” I shake my head. “He’s never done that before. He’s irresponsible, but he doesn’t hurt people, especially not himself.”
“Huh.” Jesse’s not convinced. “Either way. We’ll figure it out.”
And then he draws me into another hug that sends me into a tailspin.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t thank me,” he replies, brushing a kiss onto the top of my head. “Anything for you.”
Thirty-Six
JESSE
I don’t belongin hoity-toity places like the mayor’s house. I don’t fucking want to be here rubbing shoulders with people like Deputy Dicksneeze or his corrupt father, but having Marci beside me is making this worth it.
She’s wearing an emerald green strapless cocktail dress in silk that hugs her curves and has ruched halfway up her thighs. When Marci moves, gazes follow her across the room, and I don’t blame a single one of these chuckleheads for staring.
I place a hand on the small of her back as we navigate our way around the mayor’s vast entertaining room. Servers sweep by, bearing glasses of champagne and entrees on silver platters.
“I’m starving.” Marci groans. “Do you think we can steal one of those trays and mainline it somewhere?”
“Fuck yeah, we can.” I scan the fancy space with its thick Persian rugs and chandeliers and spot an unassuming server in the corner, straightening his bowtie and considering the guests.
“There’s our mark,” I say. “Five o’clock.”
“What’s the plan?” Marci asks.
I trace circles over the skin on her back where the dress dips low. I love that she breaks out in goosebumps at the light touch. The plan is to get her home and make her come. Marci’s been more withdrawn lately, and it makes me want her more.
I’ve spent my time doing what I can for my campaign, working to find out who’s been messing with Billy, and spending as much time with Marci and Mr. Skitters as possible.
I never thought I’d be the type of guy who’d rush home after a long day at work, but this is where we’re at. Nothing feels as important as her anymore, and I’m still not terrified.
