Page 78 of Stay in Your Lane!

Everett tapped his thumbs on the wheel. “So what do we do now?”

“I need to reach out to my brother.” I pulled one of the burner phones from my pocket. “And meet with him. Probably someplace public.”

“Public?” Everett glanced at me. “At this time of night? Everything is closed or deserted.”

I chewed my lip. “Shit. I mean, maybe Colin will know?—”

“Waffles!” He thumped the wheel with his hand. “Waffles? is open, and there are always people there this time of night!”

“Oh, hell. Good idea.” I thumbed a text to my brother.

Shit went bad. Reardon after us. Meet us at Waffles ASAP.

Then I paused and added,

Bring Tess’s car, NOT YOURS!

We slipped back into town undetected. Three patrol cars went screaming by us in the opposite direction, running full code despite the mostly deserted roads.

Everett looked in the rearview. “Think they’re looking for us?”

“Let’s hope so, because they’re going the wrong way.”

He grunted in agreement and continued making his way through the empty streets.

Up ahead, the familiar green neon lights of Waffles? came into view. I swallowed. The lights were on. There were cars in the parking lot. During the day, the restaurant and its part of the giant parking lot were out of place—cracked, pothole-riddled asphalt with weeds shooting up every which way around a diner that didn’t know what era it was from, all surrounded by gleaming modern structures.

Tonight, it was like the single oasis of life in an otherwise vacant and silent wasteland. Even the two fast food chains across the street were closed, their drive-thrus having shut down at like four in the morning. Their logos still glowed bright—red and yellow for one, orange and blue for the other—but the buildings were dark and the parking lots were empty.

Only Waffles? still buzzed with life, and I hoped to God my sister-in-law’s car was among those parked outside.

It wasn’t. I texted asking where he was, and he assured me he’d be here soon.

Wait for me inside. You’ll be safer.

No shit, but I didn’t like that he was as sure as I was that we weren’t safe unless we were out in public under bright lights.

It was what we had to work with, though.

Everett parked between a beater pickup and a classic Mustang, and he managed to avoid scraping our stolen—er,borrowed—car on either vehicle or the curb. As he shut off the engine, he looked over his shoulder. “What do we do with them?”

I peered at the cats and quirked my lips. “Well, we can’t just leave them.” Technically we probably could; it was a cool night, and if we cracked the windows, left them some water, and checked on them frequently, they’d be fine.

But this was a volatile situation, and I didn’t want my cats out of sight any more than I wanted my boyfriend out of sight.

“Let’s take them in with us.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “We’ll say they’re emotional support animals or something.”

I braced for Everett to have a very sound and logical argument for why that wouldn’t work—starting with their lack of harnesses indicating they were ESAs—but he just shrugged and got out.

On the way into Waffles?, my stomach wound itself into knots as I mentally rehearsed every argument we’d need to make.

The hostess was one I hadn’t seen before, and she looked about forty years late for retirement as she peered at the carriers. “Are those… cats?”

“They’re emotional support cats,” Everett announced cheerfully. “I was diagnosed with type three panic disorder that causes unregulated anxiety and?—”

“Right this way.” The hostess sounded like she couldn’t give less of a fuck about anything, including ESAs, and she grabbed two menus as she led us toward the far end of the restaurant.

The Goth kids were drinking coffee and nibbling on French fries, and one of them did a double take when he saw the carriers. “Are those cats? In a restaurant?”

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