Page 35 of Heart of Stone

He takes his time, coming back five minutes later. "Lexington Gardens."

I cough. "Are you shitting me?"

"Ma'am, language!"

"Dude, Lexington Gardens is five hours' drive away. You’re telling me you have nothing closer?"

"That’s correct."

"Fine," I snap. "Give me the mailing address."

The representative rattles off an address, and I scribble it down.

"Okay, how long will this take to process?"

"Five days for the check, then we’ll send someone out in five to ten business days."

"Dude, come on. This is a joke. I have three kids to take care of."

"Then you should have paid your bills on time."

I bite back the curse on the tip of my tongue. Yeah, Amanda really should have paid her bills. Now I’m out nearly five grand in overdue notices and potentially homeless until these guys get their act together.

"Is there anything else?" the guy asks, his voice dripping with smugness.

"No," I grind out through gritted teeth.

"You have a lovely day."

The line clicks dead, and I lose it. "Son of a bitch!"

"Problem?" Hawk's voice is carefully neutral.

I spin to find him and Duck watching me from the doorway. "They won’t take my payment unless it’s by check. Oh, or cash, but I have to drive to Lexington-fucking-Gardens to hand it over. Since when do utility companies refuse credit card payments?"

Duck and Hawk exchange a look I can’t interpret.

"Sounds frustrating," Duck says mildly.

"Frustrating? It’s—" I stop, sucking in a deep breath. "Sorry. I’m fine. I’ll take this as a lunch break."

Duck tosses me a brown sack. "Then eat up. ’Cause we’ve got a fender-bender coming in that the guy wants a full repair on. ’69 Mustang."

I wince. "His fault or the other guy?"

“His. Wanted to show off and put it through a fence.”

I shake my head as I pull the sandwich from the bag. “Damn. People like that shouldn’t own cars that precious.”

“You’re telling me.” Duck jabs his elbow into Hawk’s ribcage. “Go talk to the girl while I deal with this mess.”

I freeze mid-bite. “Talk to me?” I ask around a mouthful of ham and tomato.

“I overheard.” Hawk takes a seat, stretching out his long legs. “Sounds like you might need a place for a while longer.”

I chew slowly, taking my time as I consider my options. “Look, it’s not great,” I admit. “It sounds like it’ll be at least two, maybe three weeks. But don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”

My dwindling bank account says that “something” will need to be cheap. Maybe I can buy a tent and camp in the backyard.