Page 10 of Devil Inside: Green

“’Night,” she says, shutting off the light, plunging the room into bitter darkness. I roll to face away from her and close my eyes. If we’re at each other’s throats the whole time, we’re never getting anything done.

My phone alarm goes off. I open my eyes and see Danni still with her eyes closed. She looks younger—maybe early twenties—when the weight of her grief isn’t dragging her down. Nothing ages a person like guilt or grief. Half the damn time, I feel eighty years old.

“You turning that off or are you planning to sing along?” she asks, reaching over for her second pillow, whipping it at me, and like an idiot, I realize I haven’t turned the annoying buzzing alarm off yet. Singing along? She’s a trip.

“I was planning on recording it. What do you think? My first hit song?”

She laughs—actually laughs. “I’m hitting the bathroom. You can’t because pee test.”

“Wow—good thing I have you to remind me,” I deadpan, but not actually because my first instinct was to get up and pee.

We take no time gathering her stuff up again and dropping off the key card because she doesn’t know if the hotel reuses them or not. Using the GPS on her phone, Danni drives us to the beat-up-looking parole office located in a brown brick building on the older side of town. It’s on-street parking only. There’s a pickup getting ready to leave a cherry spot right in front of the glass and metal door. Danni circles around the block. The spot is empty when we get back to it. Most women of my acquaintance aren’t comfortable parallel parking, but Danni glides right in, only adjusting once she’s in the spot.

A haze hangs over the town this morning that must come from the wildfires a couple of counties over. She waits for me in the car with the air on rather than breathe in that ashy shit.

The parole officer has a pedo stache and a gruff demeanor. I wouldn’t be surprised if he drove a white van and carried candy in his pocket, yet I’m the one who needs to pee in the cup. Yet another thing I lay on the hands of the killer.

The whole check-in and pee test takes maybe twenty minutes, most of which is pedo-mustache lecturing me about the dos and don’t of a parolee and what he’ll do if he finds a trace of drugs or alcohol in my pee. I just smile and shake my head. There’s nothing to find so I’m not worried. When he finally lets me leave, I walk outside. Danni has her head bent down and she’s scribbling in a small fabric-bound notebook. With the intensity of how she’s writing words down, one thought hits me as I open the door, the Bible Belt Killer fucked with the wrong family when he took Constantina Romero. We’re going to catch this psycho.

“Come on, Darry, get in the car,” she says impatiently. “We’ve got miles to eat up.”

“Darry?”

The bitch laughs.

“My name’s Rob.”

She laughs harder and that just pisses me off. I’m obviously missing something and I hate being the butt of a joke.

“Give me the keys,” I order and she glares at me. “I’m tired of riding bitch.”

“A bitch is what you are and exactly where you’ll ride for the duration of the trip. I’m not letting you put this mission in danger because you get locked up for ignoring the terms of your parole.” She points to the brick building we’re still parked in front of. “I heard Vlad telling some of the brothers what you are and aren’t allowed, last night. No driving. No drugs or alcohol.”

Rather than respond to that bullshit, I go after something else she said as I slide into the passenger seat. “Mission? Have you been spending time with Sarge?”

“We’re not on vacation here—what would you call it?”

God, that mouth. That mouth is going to be the death of me, I feel it. “You want to go? We’re wasting time.”

She shakes her head, shifting into drive, and we hit the highway heading west. We have an almost six-hour drive ahead of us and I’m five pints low on coffee.

“You aren’t a coffee woman by chance?”Please, universe—give me this one thing.

“As it turns out, I am.”

We find the nearest fast food joint for coffee and breakfast that we get to go. I buy because why the hell not?

I watch her as she drives, singing along softly to the radio. I failed to keep Dela safe. No matter what, I vow to not let anything bad happen to Danni. She’s mine to protect until this journey is over.

My phone rings.

Vlad.

“Prez?” I answer.

“See the parole officer?”

“Already left Middlesboro. I’m notthatstupid.”

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