"Hey, all I did was open the gate."
"Yeah?" I crossed my arms. "And allIdid was point to the house."
"You're still an asshole," he muttered, reaching for a loaf of whole-grain bread, uncut, straight from the bakery – or at least, that's what my housekeeper told me when she'd stocked the kitchen.
Bishop glanced around. "Hey, where'd you put the knives?"
I looked toward the usual spot and paused. Usually, I had a sixteen-piece knife set, right there on the counter. The block was still there. The knives were gone. I scanned the nearby countertops. No knives.
"Did you check the dishwasher?" I asked.
"Yeah. There's nothing in there."
Standing like a dumb-ass, I continued to look around. And then I spotted it – a handwritten note, taped to the fridge. It had two words, Suicide Hotline, along with a scribbled phone number and a smiley face at the bottom.
"Damn it," I muttered.
"What?" Bishop asked.
"You left Amber alone in here, didn't you?"
"Yeah. For maybe a minute." He laughed. "Why? You worried she'd make off with the silver?"
"Not the silver," I said. "The knives."
"The knives?" He gave me an odd look. "But why?"
I shook my head. "Don't ask." Besides, there was something else I wanted to talk about. I leaned back against the kitchen counter and told Bishop about the douchebag who'd just offered me pussy for pay. I didn't mention Chloe, or the fact that this happened right there in Chloe's driveway.
By the time I finished, Bishop was sawing into the bread with the switchblade he kept in his pocket. "Where was this?" he asked.
"Just down the street."
"Here?" He frowned. "In this neighborhood? What was he driving?"
"A black Mercedes."
"You get the plate number?" he asked.
I shook my head. At the time, I'd been so pissed off that I hadn't even thought of it. But next time, I would – except there'd better not be a next time.
Chapter 25
It was Monday, and I was happy as hell. After two long days, I was finally getting the chance to win Chloe back. No matter what, I wasn't going to mess this up.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon when I pulled into her driveway. I'd called her at noon to finalize our plans, but what those plans were, Chloe still didn't know.
All I'd told her was to dress in casual clothes and to be ready to see something that I'd never shown anyone. Other than that, I'd been secretive for a reason. I didn't want her to worry. And I sure as hell didn't want her to cancel.
She'd be safe. I'd make sure of it.
I was just getting out of my car when the front door opened, and there she was, heading toward me. She wore jeans and a dark V-necked shirt. Her eyes were bright, and she was smiling.
It was a good sign.
But when she saw my car, her smile faltered. Easy to see why. The car was a beat-up brown sedan with a rusty front bumper and a dented hood. It looked ancient and ugly, something that belonged in a junk yard, not on the road.
When I met her on the walkway, her eyes were still on the car. "What's that?" she asked.
