Page 27 of The Fall Back Plan
“Shane,” I say, nodding at him.
“Take ten,” another guy tells him.
“Speak to you over here?” I jerk my head to the opposite corner of the warehouse, which is full of lumber odds and ends but empty of workers.
He doesn’t say anything, but he heads that direction.
“You tagged the new bar on Maple,” I say when we’re out of earshot of the others.
He scoffs. “Says who?”
I hook my fingers in my belt like every cop you’ve ever seen on every TV show, but hey—our tactical belts bristle with so many essentials that they make for good armrests. It helps that it telegraphs “peak law enforcement.” I take a slow look around the warehouse before resting my eyes on Shane Hardin again.
“Notice y’all use rust-colored spray paint to label the wood in here.” Several stacks are sprayed with identifying lot numbers on the sides since they’ll be painted over and covered up in different projects. “How good do you think the chances are that the empty cans I saw out in the lumberyard will be an exact match for the paint on the bar’s exterior?”
“You ain’t wasting department resources on getting those matched,” he says. He’s right. “And even if they matched, that’s circumstantial. Can’t prove I was there.”
“Sure,” I say, like this doesn’t bother me, because it doesn’t. This job requires an extremely long fuse, and he’s not even close to lighting it. “Not with the paint. But Domenico’s across the street did us a favor and pulled their security footage from that night. Didn’t have to request a warrant, even. I enjoyed watching the replay. Suspects don’t usually make it so easy for us. Neighborly, don’t you think? Of the store,” I add. “And the suspect, now that I think about it.”
Shane scowls, but his eyes shift to the side for a single fraction of a second. I’ve got him running scared. I’ll leave out the part where the footage was too dim to make out anything with certainty.
I keep my pleasant smile in place but stare him right in the eye. “The owner got it cleaned up too fast for me to haul you down there and make you do it, but that kind of luck is only going to go your way once. You feel me?”
Shane crosses his arms and refuses to answer, staring at me from sullen, half-closed eyes.
“That’s what I thought,” I say. “Have a good day, Hardin.” I wave at his supervisor, who is pretending not to watch this all go down, and stroll out as relaxed as I came in. “Thank you,” I call to the boss in the yard. “Appreciate you.”
He nods, but their tension won’t ease until the second my cruiser disappears from their property. Mine will too. He’s handled, and I can’t wait to tell Jolie I took care of it for her.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucas
Fromthelumberyard,Ihead over to a small café that’s closer to our side of town—mine and Jolie’s—than my usual spot near the station. I grab her a coffee, black, with cream and sugar for her to add as she pleases. I even throw in a fresh muffin at the last minute.
I get to her house ten minutes later. I knew exactly which one she was talking about. It’s a newer home but it has that cozy feeling like the library. It’s the kind of house that looks like it’s made for relaxing. Like you wouldn’t host fancy dinners there, but friends could drop by for barbecue and to watch a game anytime.
It’s the kind of place I’d pick for myself if we ever moved out of Pops’s, but I hope he’s around for a lot longer. I’m not ready to handle Brooklyn by myself, but also, he and I . . . we’re figuring each other out. We’re at an okay place, one that gets more comfortable the longer we spend time around each other.
The garage is behind the house, so I can’t tell if Jolie is home or not, and since it’s morning, there are no lights on to give me clues. But I take a chance that she’s adopted more of a swing schedule to suit the bar, and I park in her driveway and ring her front doorbell. It’s a camera one—not necessary outside of town, but smart for a woman living alone—so I make sure she can see my face.
A few days ago, I’m sure that would have given her reason enough to ignore the door, but I think we’re at a point where she’ll answer if she’s here. Sure enough, I hear her fumble with locks. More than one. Good. Then she opens the door, looking slightly rumpled, and it’s kind of . . . adorable. It’s not a word I use often, but at the moment, she reminds me of a kitten that adopted the station for a while. She’d lurk around the auto bay, hissing or darting away from anyone who tried to go near her. But if you found her curled up sleeping in a patch of sun somewhere, she’d let you pick her up and pet her, blinking at you sleepily until she woke up enough to swat and demand to be set down. I might have done that several times even though it made my eyes itch.
Jolie, the sleepy kitty. She’d kill me if she knew I was thinking of her that way.
“Hey,” she says, blinking, and I suppress a smile. “Why are you here so early, and why are you looking at me like you’re trying not to laugh in church?” Her hand goes up to touch her hair like she’s worried she’ll find something in it.
I hold out the white bakery bag and the coffee. “I came to say thank you. Brooklyn got up and went to school this morning on time, no complaints.”
She takes my offerings then looks confused as to how she ended up with them in her hands.
“I don’t know how you take your coffee, so there’s sugar and cream in there too.”
She looks from the cup in her hand to me then shifts. “Would you like to come in?” The last word disappears into a yawn, but since she’s already turning into the house, I follow her. She’s wearing jeans and the view is excellent. I wonder if she got dressed just to get the door.
I glance around the house as she leads me to her kitchen. It’s all upgraded interior trims and new paint, but the walls are bare of art, and her furniture is plain too. No throw pillows or blankets. It all looks new.
The dining room space is empty, but the kitchen has a large island with a breakfast bar, and she pulls out a stool. She nods to the end of the island like I should do the same, so I do. I watch as she digs into the bag and pulls out a muffin. Another blink, then she sets it on the counter. Back into the bag for the cream and sugar, all of which goes into her coffee.
