Page 22 of The Killer You Know

Fallon gives a short-lived laugh. “He’s eating. What do you think he’s doing here?”

“I don’t know, robbing the cash register, thinking about dining and ditching?” I nod his way and he laughs.

“It’s nice to know you’ve got faith in me.” He shrugs over at Fallon. “That’s all right. Someday I’ll swing by your place and fill you in on all the dirt I’ve got on him.”

“Ooh, make it soon,” she tells him, a little too giddy for my liking.

My body heat index spikes at the thought, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Jet anywhere near Fallon. Especially not on his own.

The scent of sugary perfume wafts over, and the next thing we know, Bea herself is standing at the helm of the table.

“Well, look who the dog dragged in,” she says with a slight country drawl. Tennessee is where Fallon says her mother hails from. Bea is somewhere in her sixties, wears her salt and pepper hair in a beehive, has the same strong cheekbones as Fallon, and wears lots of blue eyeshadow. “How’s it going, Handsome?” She offers my cheek a quick pinch. “This one giving you trouble?” She nods to her daughter and winks.

“He’s the troublemaker,” Fallon doesn’t hesitate to fill her in before turning to Jet. “Did you know that your brother dated just about everyone at Aspen Heights High?”

Jet tips his head and laughs. “And he hasn’t slowed down since.”

“Good to know.” Fallon gives me the side-eye and all I can do is sigh.

So much for making a good impression on her. And for reasons unknown to me, that felt necessary.

“It was nice meeting your brother,” Bea says my way. “He introduced himself when he came in for the interview.”

“What interview?” I grouse, shooting Jet a look that promises certain death.

Is he forgetting that I pack heat? Quantico taught me a lot about decomposing bodies. And I haven’t fully implemented that knowledge firsthand yet. I could dispose of him and no one would be the wiser.

“He came in looking to fill the position for the sign in the window,” Bea says, chipper as a hummingbird. “Jet, you can start anytime you like. Let’s do four days a week to begin with, eleven to seven. You’ll bus, wait tables, and take out the trash before you leave in the evenings. You got a problem with that?”

There goes Bea’s no-nonsense style, and even though that is what I like best about her, right now I’m not liking anything about this conversation.

“No way.” I sit up a notch and Buddy pokes his head between Fallon and me as if to inspect what’s going on. He’s no fool. He senses trouble, too. “But thank you very much, Bea, for thinking about him.”

“I’m not talking to you, Hot Shot.” She’s quick to shoot me down. “Jet, you’re a grown man. You can start tomorrow if you feel like it. It’ll be good training. Other than that, it’ll be Thursday to Sunday and then we can take it from there. Now”—she offers a crooked grin my way—“what can I put in you to make you less cranky?”

Fallon leans her way. “He had his eye on the apple pie, scoop of vanilla to go with it. Maybe make it two scoops of vanilla. He’s been extra cranky tonight.”

I shoot her a look for the quip.

“I’ve got piping hot pie with your name on it,” Bea says. “I’ll bring a round for the table.” She pats me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Papa. They gotta grow up sometime. If I were you, I’d be more concerned with that one on your right. She’s been known to throw a fit if she doesn’t get what she wants. If you know how to make a girl happy, she might just keep you around just for kicks.”

“Mother,” Fallon scoffs with a laugh buried in her throat. “Stone and I are professionals.”

Bea waves the thought away. “Oh, hon, he’s too hot for me to care about some paycheck, and you know it’s true for you, too.”

I glance her way as Fallon pulls a menu up over her face.

“What’s going on?” someone calls out from behind Bea and the entire lot of us turns that way.

16

Special Agent Jack Stone

The diner is buzzing tonight as Fallon and I sit across from Jet on our way to garnering some piping hot apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The stuff of dreams.

Bea steps aside, revealing a blonde with dark roots near the scalp, light eyes, and cut features. She looks harmless enough, save for the hardened expression she’s trying to sell us. I’m not buying it. She seems friendly to a fault.

“Riley,” Fallon says in a tone that’s a touch more cheerful than I’m used to. “This is Special Agent Jack Stone and his brother, Jet. Gentlemen, this is my sweet sister.”

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