Shadow of Doubt - Hailey Edwards Page 0,45
I faced forward. “Don’t throw them away on me.”
Ducking his head, he rubbed his jaw. “Who’s to say you’re not one and the same?”
“I says.” I fidgeted with the buckle. “The next twelve months of my life are spoken for.”
Eyebrow cocked, he challenged me. “What about after that?”
“You’re not going to wait a year for a date.” I scoffed. “You’re a shameless flirt.”
“Have you considered I’m only flirting with you?”
“Have you considered you’re only flirting with me because it makes your job easier?”
“You don’t trust easy, Lee.”
“Once bitten and all that.” I stroked Bonnie’s coarse fur for comfort. “You don’t want me, Ford. You want an all-access pass to my life so you can nose around in it. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
“Are you qualified to dispense dating advice? How long have you been single?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at—”
“Are you seriously dragging Midas into this conversation?”
“I’m not blind, Lee.”
“You could have fooled me,” I tossed back. “Clearly you have something in your eye.”
“There’s something between you. Midas—”
“Goddess.” I flung up my hands. “Why don’t you two get married already?”
“Mated,” he corrected. “I can’t bear him children to carry on the family name, so our love was doomed from the start.”
I really wish I hadn’t laughed, but he had made me snicker more in the past forty-eight hours than I had in months. I could see why he coped through flirting and laughter. He was good at both. “Take me home?”
“Sure.” He cut the wheel. “Working the mall tonight?”
“That’s usually the first four hours of my night, not the last.”
Shopping centers are great places for overhearing gossip and shutting down stalking behaviors before they escalated in the parking lot.
They’re called malls, not mauls.
Where I rented my kiosk was owned by a Society family, and it kept Society hours, but the daily dish was hottest and freshest at sundown. Miss that first rush of nocturnal shoppers, and you might as well call in sick. Unless you were one of those weirdoes who actually hawked their wares instead of eavesdropping on passersby. I hear some folks are into that. Earning a livable wage.
The trill of my phone had me digging around in my pocket, and I swallowed when I read the ID. “Hadley.”
“Meet me at the H.E. Holmes MARTA station.”
“Do we—?”
Midas ended the call.
“—have another one?” I thumped my cell against my forehead. “I’m guessing you heard that.”
With less than a foot of space between us, Ford likely heard every word as clear or clearer than me.
“Guess that answers my question,” he said as he cut the wheel.
“Yeah.” I sank my fingers into Bonnie’s fur. “I guess it does.”
Nine
The cleaners arrived as Ford threw his truck into park, telling me that Midas had placed his calls back to back, and they started squawking about contamination before their bootied feet hit the ground. I didn’t have to look far to find Midas. He stood beneath a tow-away sign in front of the rear entrance, the one directly off I-20 West, dressed in the same clothes he had worn on his date.
The outfit was carefully bland and a size too large. I could see Midas hanging the stiff khaki pants and saggy button-down shirt in his closet on a hanger labeled Mate Repellant for the nights his mom set him up with women. If he hoped the drab outfit detracted from his looks, he was out of luck.
The man was beautiful. Physically perfect. As long as you didn’t look in his eyes. That’s where his truth lived, and it was stark, a silent scream that I alone seemed to hear.
“Wait here,” I told Bonnie, who was alibied for this murder. “You don’t want to see what’s out there.”
The corgi, who had seen worse, seeing as how she had scouted Perkerson Park, disagreed with me.
“I can’t draw attention to myself, or to you, by bringing a pet on-scene.”
Ears pinned to her skull, Bonnie bit my hand just shy of breaking skin, and I yelped.
“She’s right.” Ford attempted to reason with her. “You need to stay put for this.”
When she turned her head to look out the window, ignoring us, I took it on faith that she would behave.
We hit the asphalt in the parking lot, but Ford kept glancing over his shoulder as we crossed to Midas.
“Are you scared she’ll pee on your seats?” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Or worse?”
“Definitely or worse.” He threw a companionable arm around my shoulders. “You should have seen her tackle the