“Are you living a double life or something? Should we call you Hannah Montana?” Lola asks, standing and reaching across the coffee table, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. “You’re not feverish, so there’s no good reason for you to be hallucinating.”
He gently swats her hand away, rolling his eyes and leaning into his corner of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. “The point is, it’s not them. Moving on, y’all.”
“Therehe is,” Mom mutters, the corners of her lips twitching.
“What about the bikers?” José asks, receiving a pointed glare from Bexaida. “They’ve been showing up an awful lot more recently. It could be related.”
Bexaida shakes her head almost violently, black-and-silver hair falling loose from the low bun at the nape of her neck. “No, never.MyLevi wouldnever.”
“You know, I thinkPapimight have something to say about this,” Lola teases, earning a scowl from her mom.
“Those men are good-hearted people who’ve lived very tough lives. They have vibrant, protective energy around them. They arenotinvolved,” she insists.
We’ve officially run out of suspects, aside from Russ, who’s acting out of character, according to Lola. Besides that, there’s nothing really tying him to any of this.
We move on to discussing strategies for keeping everyone safe: lying low, cleansing our homes and auras, and when we finally leave, I feel a little lighter than I did at the start of the day. Not much has improved; if anything, it’s gotten twice as bad, based on the second figure Bexaida saw in the yolk, but knowing we have such a strong support system provides me some much-needed hope for our future.
After driving Lola off the property to dispose of the egg and taking care of a few last things on the ranch, we finish up the last few minutes of our counseling session with a homework assignment for the week and a plan to meet next Thursday, same time.
“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we end our call?” Talia asks.
“Yeah, I was wondering if you have contact information for any therapists trained in animal-assisted therapy. I’ve been looking into non-invasive treatments for rheumatoid arthritis and came across several articles that outlined the benefits of equine therapy.” I scratch my neck, averting my eyes, but I can’t escape the way Lola’s gaze feels so heavy on my skin. “I figure since we rescue lots of horses to live out their lives here, why not work with someone who can help them rescue others in their own way?”
I finally glance at Lola. She peers up at me with glossy eyes and swipes at a tear that’s fallen down her cheek.
Talia smiles brightly at the camera and bends her head, jotting something down in our file beforeglancing back up at us. “I have a couple of people in mind I’ll reach out to and have them get in contact if interested. And for what it’s worth, I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Thank you, Talia. I appreciate your help with everything, not just this,” I say, a newfound tether of hope attaching itself to my heart, and we end the call after some basic pleasantries.
As expected, we had a lot to discuss, but we each ended the night feeling more equipped to handle the bad days, like today, than we had last week or the one before that.
The only thing left to do for the night is the part I find most daunting.
Zeke agreed to come over after we finished therapy, and I hope whatever he finds doesn’t leave me wishing we hadn’t waited.
Chapter Sixty-Six
SPY ZADDY
THURSDAY, JUNE 26
“So,should I ask why you have this type of equipment lying around your house?” I ask Ezekiel, staring unabashedly as he unpacks his equipment from the small black-and-gray fabric case.
He peers up at me, his eyes void of humor, but his response makes me laugh anyway. “Probably not.”
“Oh-kay then.”
Zeke walks around the house, scanning every inch, but paying special attention to items like paintings, picture frames, light fixtures, smoke alarms, and the carbon monoxide detector.
Everything seems to be going smoothly until the room fills with a shrill beeping. It stops quickly,as does my heart.
Zeke’s heavy brows pull taut, spine rigid as he removes the pale-blue lampshade from the wall sconce, unscrews the lightbulb, and checks each piece for a positive signal. He comes up empty-handed at first, but the same loud tone blares over a screw at the base.
“Ry, could you turn the power off to this side of the house, please? I’ve gotta take this apart.”
Ryder works quickly, as does Zeke, and a few minutes later, we’re staring at a tiny black camera the size of my pinky nail that had been peering at us through the center of the hollowed-out screw.
A chill wracks through me, and I shake like a leaf. All the private moments we shared have been anything but thiswholetime.
