Page 26 of Hell In A Handbasket
We miss you, too, Charlie. Be safe in your black spot and check in when you’re on the other side. Waiting for Mia to come out of class now.
She already saw me through the little window in the door.
I won’t lie, made my stomach jump a little. Talk to you later.
“She likes you!” Jen slides under Corey’s arm, cuddling into his side and looking up at the military motherfucker whose lipsalmostcurl into a smile. “She likes him. I have dibs on being the executive in charge of communications between my dad’s assistant and Minka’s cop’s cop.”
“Detective Fletcher,” I correct her, locking the screen again and biting down on my pathetic smirk. Why am I smiling?Because maybe she likes me, too?Who the fuck have I become? “And you’re never texting for me again. That was an invasion of privacy.”
“Boo-freakin’-hoo,” Soph drawls. “Someone get Detective Lover over here a bowl of cereal to cry into. It’s not like I don’t already see every single text you ever send or receive.”
We miss you, too, Charlie.
We.
We!
MINKA
“The diner.” I peer out the bus’s tinted windows as Jay brings us to a stop in the middle of a main street in a town about an hour from the airport. This town is, ridiculously, smaller than the one we were in before, which makes the gargantuan size of the bus taking up a half dozen car spaces all the more absurd.
Reading the signage above a little diner, I frown. “Why are we stopping here?”
“Because I’m hungry, obviously.” Soph snatches up a cross-body bag somewhat similar to mine and tosses a military-looking laptop inside, then swinging it around until at least half of us are at risk of losing our heads, she moves toward the front of the bus and opens a door different from the one we entered through. “It’s food o’clock, and I’m not a very nice person if I don’t stick to schedule.”
“But our schedule was supposed to include a dead body!” I run to the storage bin Spencer deposited my bag inside, and grabbing it on the fly, I race after Sophia, through the bus door and onto the sidewalk outside. I dash through the putrid heat, like wading through steam, and tugging the case file out of my bag, I slide through the closing gap of the diner door and into blissful air conditioning once more. “Soph. The longer you leave the remains, the more evidence we lose. It’s gonna be dark in a couple of hours and?—”
“Curly fries, please.” She waves at the server and smiles. “And a thick shake. Chocolate.”
“Soph—”
She plops onto the swivel stool at the front counter and turns toward the door as her men—and mine, too, I guess—file through. “You want a burger, Jay?”
“Mmm. Yes, please.” He strides closer and smacks a noisy kiss to the back of her neck, then he circles away ahead of Kane and Jess, and flops into a booth thatshouldfit three bodies on each side, but there’s no way it will fit two Bishops side by side. “And a shake,” he decides. “And fries, and maybe something for a starter, too. They got breadsticks?”
As each new body wanders through, the server’s friendly expression grows dimmer. Her excitement at the prospect of new faces turns to dread as Felix comes in. Micah. Archer. Corey. Spencer. So many to feed, and quite possibly, not enough food to go around.
“I’ll help you.” Happily, Jess bops around the otherwise empty diner in denim shorts and a tank top that hugs her frame perfectly, and taking out her phone, she stares at the Malones as they consider whether they’ll hover or sit.
Accept their fate, or continue to fight it?
“You want something to eat?” She pulls out a chair and waits for Debbie to waddle nearer. “I remember what eight months feels like. The baby wanna eat?”
“Juice.” Christabelle lowers with a grunt, her belly bumping the table forward so the legs scrape against the linoleum floor. “More juice, please. I’m begging you.”
Panicked, Felix’s eyes swing to me. Like he’s seeking permission. God knows, I’m not her doctor. But I drop my chin anyway.
“I know you’re not deferring to her, Felix Malone.” She settles back and moans. “I said I wanted juice, means I get juice.”
“Juice means your sugars are low, right?” He plops onto the seat opposite and takes her hand in his. “Darling, sugar cravings are bad.”
“Not giving me the things I want when I ask for them is bad!” She jerks her hand back again, only to turn it palm-side-up. And like they’ve done this a million times in the past, he places his phone in her hand and waits while she enters the code, swipes the screen, then turns it back to show him. “See? My sugars are fine. It’s just juice.”
“Juice.” Jess taps the order into her phone. “Food?”
“Fries,” she groans. “And gravy. Lots and lots of gravy.”
Jess snorts and looks at Felix. “And you?”
