Page 37 of Executing Malice

I fight not to let my face tell her to go fuck a blowtorch. I know I’m tempted, but that wouldn’t be neighborly, and I don’t want to create problems for Leila later on. I do wish Jefferson had another place for food. Hell, if I wasn’t worried about waking Leila up, I’d make us both breakfast at home.

Eight more days,I tell myself.

But, like every morning since arriving, I don’t say a word as she waits for me to explain myself.

Tough luck, bitch.

I’ve had tougher, meaner, scarier people than her try to get me to talk and they weren’t successful either. I even have the scars to prove it.

“And how do you know he’s not doing anything?” A blonde with bright blue eyes and an arched eyebrow slides up next to me. “If anything, looks to me like you’re the one not doing anything at the moment.”

Splotches of red rise up Mable’s throat and fill her cheeks. “We’re just having a friendly conversation.”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “And a praying mantis is only a bug.” She holds up a folded twenty dollar bill and waves it. “Coffee ... please.”

Mable snatches it from between the other woman’s fingers and stuffs it into the till along with mine. Neither of us get our change back, I note. But we do get a nasty glower before Mable stalks away to grab our orders.

I wait for the blonde to strike up a conversation. To tell me not to let Mable get under my skin. Any number of bonding sentiments, but she moves away from me like the three feet between us wasn’t enough. Her face drops to the lit screen on her phone and she simply waits for her drink without even sparing me a glance.

I immediately like her. Can’t be sure if I’ve seen her before, but she definitely gets a gold star in my books.

“Morning, Mable.”

The voice carries with the clang of bells as the door is swept open by a tall, broad man in a uniform the same brown asrunny shit. The silver star pinned to his impressive chest glints in the blinding sunlight spilling through the walls of glass. Kind of hits like a warning as he ambles closer.

Reed Weir.

Fuck me.

I know I would eventually have to meet him. The fact that I have successfully managed to evade him the last several weeks must have been some kind of luck, but I sure was hoping for a few more days.

Eyes the green of damp moss drift to the blonde. Not sleezy, but casual.

“Morning, Lauren.”

The girl lifts her gaze and fixes him with a deadpan expression of someone annoyed at being addressed.

I definitely like her.

“Deputy.”

The corner of his mouth quirks, unbothered. “No coffee yet, huh?”

Lauren pinches her lips. “She might break a hip if she goes too fast.”

“I heard that!” Mable slams a paper cup on the counter, sloshing the liquid over the rim to stain the counter.

Lauren rolls her eyes even as she spins on her heels and moves to retrieve her drink. She pauses and looks Mable dead in the eye.

“Did I whisper?”

I have to bite my lip to contain my grin, especially when Mable sputters and recoils like she’d been physically assaulted. But Lauren sweeps up her cup and stalks over to a nearby table. Her phone is stuffed into her back pocket and she starts the process of dumping half the sugar jar inside her drink.

“There should be a law about rudeness,” Mable gripes.

Weir chuckles, unfazed by the interaction. “If I had to start arresting every person who is rude, half the town would be behind bars.”

Mable grumbles, but rather than respond, she pins me with her beady eyes and snaps, “Your sandwich is coming.”