Page 49 of Bishop

Instead, she turns to the railing, gripping the wood in both hands.

The quiet stretches, the darkness of night creeping closer with each passing second.

“Do you always smoke?” Her voice is low, the confidence in her tone diminished despite how she attempts to make a smooth transition from a conversation about murder to something as menial as my nicotine habit.

“Only when the circumstances demand it.”

She nods again. “And I’m that circumstance?”

“One of many. You women have an impressive way of complicating life.”

“You women?” She shoots me a tired look. “Does that mean you have a girlfriend?”

“Give me more credit.” I take the last puff of my smoke, then put it out in the ashtray at my feet. “Unlike your brother, I make smart choices where females are concerned.”

Her mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile breaking free.

I find myself itching to see it in full form. To glimpse what amusement looks like on her when unbridled and carefree.

Get your fucking head straight, asshole.

“Until now,” she muses. “It must be hell on Earth to be stuck here with me.”

“True. It’s not the most fun I’ve ever had.”

The humor fades from her profile, her gaze lowering to the lawn a few feet ahead. “I owe you an apology for my behavior.” She flicks another glance my way, this one tinged with regret.

“An explanation would be preferred.” I want to know the reasons behind every stupid decision she’s made since I reached Denver. Why was she fucking around with Gordon? Why rail on me after I saved her when she’d clearly been screaming for help? And who the fuck is Jenna?

There are so many things about Abri that don’t make sense, and I won’t stop until I find the answer.

She swallows, the faint hint of her throat working against the top of her scarf as her focus returns to the yard. “You already know why I act the way I do. I’m a money-hungry drama queen, remember?” She backtracks and turns for the house. “I’m going to make a start on the spaghetti.”

I don’t protest. If she wants to hide from me, that’s fine. I’ll figure out her secrets another way. I watch her, though.

While she occupies her time in the kitchen I remain in the growing darkness of the porch, peering through the floor-to-ceiling glass as she cooks our dinner.

Money-hungry drama queen or not, she’s keeping her cards close to her chest. Trying to bluff her way around a man who is becoming increasingly more invested in learning her nuances.

There’s more to her temperamental state than grief. It stretches beyond financial issues, too.

Be cautious with her. Langston had messaged earlier. I don’t want her running when I’m not in a position to search for her. I’m relying on you to keep her safe while I’m down for the count.

I didn’t need the reminder.

Not about how she’s likely to run or that he’s recovering from wounds I could’ve prevented if only I’d been around.

“Bishop?” She calls out half an hour later, beckoning me inside with two bowls of spaghetti.

We sit on opposite sides of the dining table, neither one of us breaking the silence.

She holds her scarf as she leans over to eat a few bites, her gaze affixed to her cell phone as it lays silent beside her bowl.

“Have you heard from your mother yet?” I don’t know what she added to the basic spaghetti sauce to give it less of a production-line flavor, but it’s good. Real good.

“No, and I’m wondering whether or not I should file a missing person’s report. I don’t know what’s going to make me look less guilty once the police start to investigate.”

She doesn’t need to worry about the authorities. Lorenzo has the cops in Virginia in his pocket, and those in Denver are firmly placed in mine.

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