Page 33 of Hiss and Make Up
“Nope,” he said, searching his phone for a number. “I know someone who might be able to help us find out where that email came from.”
Sierra’s head popped up and her eyes widened. Now he was talking. Action. Progress. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete waste of an afternoon after all.
But after another hour of game time—complete with groans and curses and screams from the other sports writers—she was back to wondering what had been the point of coming here. Of being in a room full of people who ignored her. Of that job list. Of this stupid sport.
Someone nearby announced the opposing team was taking a knee.
"About time."
Since the rest of the room didn't seem to share her sentiment, Marc stuffed his laptop into its bag. Then he grabbed her hand and rushed them both out of the room before Sierra got any threats of her own.
"Nice work," he said. "You always that charming?"
"Mostly," she shouted over the noise.
They navigated a long, winding cement ramp and fought their way out of the stadium, escaping the sea of red shirts.
"So, what's our game plan now?"
Better late than never, she supposed. She kept reminding herself that this was a work event for him, but she’d been antsy to make progress. And, if she was being honest, she had been looking forward to spending time with him. Hearing his voice again and being inches from him in those chairs made her restless in a way that didn’t make sense. In a way she’d shut the door on years ago. In a way that had made her incredibly agitated.
"Any luck with tracking that email?” she asked.
“Not yet. They said they’d call me back when they traced it.”
Well, that was something. Not much, but something.
“I'll see if I can track down where those snakes came from. I can make calls tomorrow. Or Monday, since I don’t know who’ll answer the phone on a Sunday. I was going to check with breeders, dealers, and whoever else might be able to help. You can’t legally keep a venomous snake without a permit, so I can call the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries to see if anyone around here has a permit. That’sifthey were keeping it legally.”
“That’s a bigif”
He placed his laptop on the back seat, and they both got inside the car. He turned the key, but nothing happened. After turning it a second time, he said, “I don’t think we’re going anywhere any time soon.”
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It won’t start.”
“Did you run out of gas?”
Marc exhaled loudly. “Are you serious? What am I, sixteen? Of course, I didn’t run out of gas.”
“It happens.”
“To you.”
“To a lot of people.”
“I filled up yesterday. You want to see my receipt?”
“You have the receipt?”
“Yeah. It’s in my wallet.” He exhaled again. “I’m not out of gas.”
“Did you leave the lights on? Maybe the battery’s dead.”
His face tightened, as he exited the car without saying another word. After slamming the door shut with her in the car, Marc lifted the hood to examine the car’s guts. Sierra slipped out on her side and immediately realized the problem. She’d seen it on the way in, but she’d been too caught up with their conversation.
“I think your fuel line is leaking.”
