Page 6 of Veiled

I swallow hard, my stomach in knots because I know it’s strange. I know I should just let it go, but I can’t seem to do it. “I’m okay.” He nods and turns back toward the door. “Tennessee? Really?”

He chuckles, and I see him shake his head. “Yup.”

After he leaves, I sit at my desk for what feels like forever before a series of texts come through with all the details of the town and place Justin appears to be living now.

I book a flight without giving it too much thought and then text Jenny.

Me: I’m going out of town for a bit. You think you can watch my dog for me?

Damn Cooper—I swear the guy has talked every single one of us, except Jenny, into adopting pets from the animal shelter where he volunteers. She’s the only holdout, but she has a soft spot for the guy. And now that he’s dating her client Maverick, she’ll be around him even more. I predict she’ll have a new best friend in no time.

I watch the dots appear after she sees my message. She types and then stops a couple of times before sending a message through.

Jenny: Fuck no. Have that adorable little cutie pie who talked you into adopting him watch him.

I grin at that.

Me: He’s out of town with Maverick. As his agent, you should know that.

I get a middle finger emoji for that one and crack a pleased smile.

Jenny: Ah, fuck a duck. Fine. I’ll watch your yippy-ass dog.

Jenny: Where the hell are you going?

Yeah, this is the part she’s really not going to like. But might as well get it over with.

Me: Tennessee

And the white dots appear again. And then disappear. Then appear and disappear again.

Jenny: Why?

I take a deep breath and type the reply as I climb up from my desk and head out of the office.

Me: Soren tracked Justin down. He’s there, so I’m going.

Please don’t call me an idiot. I fucking know.

Jenny: You idiot.

Damn it.

Me: I know.

Jenny: Drop the dog off at my place. I have a meeting tonight, but I shouldn’t be out too late.

I smile. She may not agree with me, but Jenny is loyal. She’ll support me as she calls me an idiot, and I couldn’t ask for a better friend.

Me: Thank you.

Jenny: Be safe.

I text her a thumbs-up emoji I know will piss her off and will likely result in another middle finger waiting for me when I get home. Then I drive straight to my house.

My dog—who I lovingly nicknamed Cujo because the tiny little basset hound with the sweetest face in the world turns into a holy terror who tears up all my shit and will bite you if you get near his food—runs up to greet me happily.

I smile as I scratch his ears. “Hey there, Cujo. You’re going to stay with Auntie Jenny for a bit.”

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