Shaking my head, I guide the car to the back of the lot and watch as she parks, locking her rental behind her and walking briskly to the store. I keep expecting her to stop, to meet someone, but she disappears inside.
Five minutes later, she comes out, walks briskly back to her car, and slides inside. But something flutters out of her pocket when she does. The moment she pulls away, I nudge Cal, pointing at it.
He adjusts his hoodie so he can see. “What?”
“Go get that paper.”
“Are you kidding? Luca, I’m not getting out of this car.”
“Callum, you’re six-foot-five, over two hundred pounds. Nobody is going to mess with you.”
“Yeah, but Ilooksoft.”
“There’s nobody here!”
“Maybe it’s a trap!”
“Oh, so now you think she’s up to something?”
When Cal hunkers down into the seat, I sigh and push my door open, shutting it a little too hard. I stalk across the lot and pick up the paper before it can blow away in the wind.
“What does it say?”
“Jesus!” I jump, turning to find Callum looking over my shoulder. He pulls it out of my hand, scans it, then starts to laugh.
“Oh, fuck you,” I mutter, already walking back to the car.
“Let’s see,” Cal says, nervousness gone as he mocks me. “Tampons, toothpaste—oh, this is nefarious,beef jerky.”
I pull open the door to the Firebird, and we get inside, the engine roaring to life when I start it, the headlights illuminating the empty lot.
“She doesn’t even live near here,” I say, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. “So why drive all the way to this dollar store to buy toothpaste?”
Cal shrugs. “Maybe she likes this place. Luca, you have to cool it on her, okay? This kind of proves that she’s not up to anything, right?”
This proves nothing, but I nod so Callum will relax. He does, sitting back in his seat and letting out a breath. I pluck the receipt from his hand and scan it again, then turn it over in my hand.
It’s faint, but there:Nice try.
Of course Wren is smart enough to know when she’s being followed. I crumple the receipt, drop it to the floor, and start the car.
I’m not going to tell Cal about the note. First, because it’s just going to make him laugh. And second, because he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it.
Wren Beaumont is someone used to being followed. That clearly says something about what she’s been up to in the past. I plan to figure out what that is, and next time, I’m going to make sure she doesn’t see me.
Wren
“Come on, come on.” I sit just behind the bench, watching as Luca shoots and picks up his own rebound, dropping the puck off to Callum. He needs to put more pressure on the goalie’s left side, but he hasn’t been doing it, as much as Callum tries to set him up for that positioning.
Of course Luca isn’t—he thinks everything I say is horse shit.
The air hangs with the scent of nacho cheese, hot dogs, that particular sharp smell of the ice. To my left, a burly man in a Frost jersey keeps cheering too soon, each time they shoot on the goal, then sitting down embarrassed when he realizes the puck hasn’t gone in. The crowd of Rangers around us is raucous, more than pleased with the way this game has been going.
We’re in New York, already two points down in the second period. Luca is clearly not happy about it, but if there’s one thing about him, it’s the way he plays when the team is down. Controlled, graceful, not letting the pressure of a looming defeat take any of his focus.
It’s strange, but it’s almost like Luca plays better when he knows he has a chance of losing.
Before this game, I gave the team my first full strategy run-down. Luca was supposed to meet with me this morning, per Uncle Vic’s approval of us working on the strategy stuff “together” but he didn’t show up. Sloane stopped by to check on the meeting—clearly worried her brother might make an ass of himself—and was very surprised to find he hadn’t appeared.
