Page 59 of Cruel Love

I hand the bag off to Archer and he checks it with continued interest.

“I just need a few days,” I say. “No need to send your people after me.”

“Good.”

“But we have time for a cup of coffee and a cupcake if you want to ask some of those questions. I owe you that much.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t.”

I look at the line wrapping around the front of the truck. “Right. You should probably get back to your tacos. Want us to bring you something back?”

“No, I mean. You can’t,” he says. “Muffin Top got shut down.”

I gasp. “What? Why?”

“The mob shot it up last week,” he explains. “The guy running it closed it for repairs. Doing a total remodel.”

“No cherry-cherry cupcakes?” I pout.

He shrugs sadly. “No cherry-cherry cupcakes.”

I frown. “Dammit. This whole trip feels like a waste now.” Archer nudges my arm. “Anyway… we have places to be.”

Milo shakes my hand. “Take care of yourself, Boxcar.”

“I will.”

He extends his hand toward Archer. “And you… take care of Boxcar. He owes me money.”

Archer sighs. “I’m not a bodyguard, mate.”

Milo snickers. “Mate.”

We turn around and walk off, leaving Milo to tend to his truck. I pound the pavement, beelining forward across the street.

“Oh, Boxcar.”

I glance up at Archer beside me. “What?”

He strides in front of me, stopping me in my tracks, and towers over me with a wise, knowing stare. “How are you really feeling about becoming a father?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly.

His brow arches.

“Really. I’m fine. I’m excited.” I pause. “Or I was this morning.”

“What changed?”

“Reality sunk in,” I say. “I mean, Caleb has no savings and a lot of debt. I’ve never had a real job. The only way I know how to make money is by stealing it, which she would not approve of. So, how the hell am I going to support a family?”

“You get a job,” he says.

“How? With what resume? With what work experience?”

Archer laughs. “Boxcar, you are the most talented hacker I’ve ever met. You forget that I used to work in intelligence, so me saying that means something. You will have no trouble finding a legit job.”

I run a hand through my hair, roughing it out of place. “And I don’t want to live in Los Angeles,” I admit. “It’s too hot. It’s crowded. It’s dirty.”

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