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“Can you find one for me?” he asks. “Marce, my time is up, but can you get hold of a?—”
The call goes quiet, and I pull the phone away from my ear.
I ball my hand into a fist. How am I supposed to save the diner like this?
Twenty-One
JESSE
I walk backto the squad, my jaw clenched because I’ve got nothing. I’ve spoken to every unsavory asshole in Heatstroke and none of them know who “Jonesy” is or what he looks like.
Either it’s a fake name, or they’re too scared to tell me the truth. Both options piss me off. And then there’s the fact that I’m on duty with Davis today, and being around him makes me want to break things.
My phone rings, and I answer it as I’m getting into the squad.
“This is Taylor.”
“Hello, Jesse, darling.”
Ganny’s shaky voice comes down the line. She’s getting older, and I hate the thought of missing any of her calls because of that.
“Hey, Ganny,” I say, ignoring Davis’ gum-chewing beside me.
“Marjorie told me that you went and got married without so much as an engagement party or a wedding reception. Is that true?”
Shit. Of course.
Ganny’s always the first in our family to know things. I didn’t have the chance to break the news to her yesterday because I was too fucked up over having Marci in my cottage.
“I always knew you and Marci would wind up together,” she says. “Y’all compliment each other so well, but I won’t abide by you having a shotgun wedding without your family, honey.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment type thing,” I say. “I’m sorry you missed it.”
“Don’t be,” she says. “I want you two to come over after work. We’ll start arranging a real wedding party with family and friends. Is that understood?”
Ganny doesn’t get serious often. This means a lot to her.
“We’ll be there.”
“Good. Love you, honey pie.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up and stow my phone in my pocket.
“Huh.”
Davis continues chawing on his gum. The man needs a fucking spittoon.
I ignore the off-hand grunt and start the squad’s engine. We’re patrolling along the beachfront at the moment, but my thoughts are with Marci. How can I help her? Who’s this Jonesy motherfucker? Is she safe at the diner? How can I make her come like that again? The way she tasted was enough to make me blow.
“You hear me, Taylor?”
Davis grates on me with that question.
“I’d prefer not to,” I say, “but here we are. What do you want?”
He sniffs.
