Page 35 of Cruel Love

I shrug. “Told ya. All those Hollywood girls love the vintage crap.”

“Yeah, you were right. Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

The back opens again. We hear Boxcar’s manic shuffle bolt up the stairwell. I look at Fox as his eyes follow the movement up the thin walls.

“I should go meet Dante,” he says.

He makes it sound so casual as if he wasn’t about to go hang out with a family of psychos.

“Please, be careful,” I tell him.

“Hey, you know me.”

“Exactly.”

He smirks. “You don’t have to trust them, Caleb. Just trust me.”

“I do.” I gesture around the walls of my back room from the doorway. “Take whatever you think you’ll need.”

He nods as our eyes shift upward, following Boxcar’s frantic pacing along the second floor.

I hesitate for another second before walking out onto the store floor.

Fawn’s Pawn has been closed ever since the Hart twins attacked me here but that wasn’t the only reason why I shut it down. They just so happened to enter my life on the same day my husband returned and turned my world upside down. Shit happens like that sometimes, I guess.

Still, the place never felt the same after that. It used to feel safe. The one thing in my life I had even an ounce of control over. Maybe I’ll re-open someday. Maybe I won’t.

It’s not important right now.

I take a deep breath before following Boxcar upstairs. The door to the apartment is wide-open and I hear his feet dragging from one end to the other. I pause outside to look in.

He stands over the bed with an old backpack laying open in front of him, stuffing a few shirts and another pair of jeans inside. Dark circles stand out around his eyes, even from behind his thick glasses. I don’t think he slept last night. I definitely didn’t.

I step inside and he pauses briefly before going right back to what he’s doing. I move quietly around him and head toward the bedside drawer for my Model 60 revolver. My special occasion gun. My father’s good luck charm.

I turn it over in my palm and open the cylinder to make sure it’s loaded before holding it out to Boxcar.

“Here,” I say. “You’ll need this more than I will.”

He stops and stares at it. “You sure?”

I nod. “Take it. I’ll feel much better about this if you had it.”

“Might have a hard time getting it through security checks,” he points out.

“You’re palling around with Snake Eyes agents,” I say. “Ask Fox. He’ll know a way to get it through.”

He nods in understanding as he reaches out to take it. I flick the safety on before dropping it into his hand. He quickly lets it fall into the side pocket and he zips it up tightly. Boxcar has never been a big fan of guns.

“Did Fox talk to you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

He flexes his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything.

“So…” I say, clearing my throat. “There’s one thing about your Paris story that doesn’t really add up to me.”

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