Page 68 of The Breakdown

“I will.”

June sighed and covered the plate and placed it in the microwave. “You feel any better?”

Natalie rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m too tired to care.”

June returned to her and embraced her from behind. “You look too tired to care. You want to come sleep at the house tonight in the guest room?”

“No. I prefer to crash here. Alone.”

“Okay.”

“But thanks for the talk. And the advice.”

“I wish you would heed it.”

“I promise I’ll think about it.”

“That’s enough for me. Your food’s in the microwave. Heat it up if you get hungry sometime soon.”

“Thanks, I will.”

June kissed the top of her head and walked to the door. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, yes?”

Natalie nodded.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay tonight?” She hesitated at the door, wondering if she should offer to stay the night with her. “I could…stay. If you need me to.”

“I’m okay, June. Really.”

June blew her a kiss. “Alright then. Night, Natalie.”

“Night.”

June walked out the door, trying to believe Natalie when she said she felt better, but in no way feeling better about things herself.

Chapter Thirty

Tito pulled into the paved lot and parked in front of an office door with the business name sprawled across it in fancy font. To his right sat dozens of yellow cabs, all lined up like little bees behind a fence, waiting to swarm, waiting to tell him what he needed to know.

All he had was a hunch, but he’d found out more on a whim than most people with good, solid leads. So he was willing to take a chance.

He popped an apple-flavored Jolly Rancher into his mouth and climbed from his SUV. He lumbered up to the glass door and pulled it open with ease. He heard an overhead bell jingle as he stepped inside. The office was cold, so much so that he thought he might be able to see his breath. He coughed into his fist, both to check and to garner attention. A man behind the counter shoved a wedge of sandwich into his mouth and got to his feet, wiping his hands together to rid them of crumbs. A paper napkin hung from his collar, a makeshift bib.

“Help you?”

Tito tucked his Jolly Rancher into his cheek and slid a photo across the counter to him.

“What’s this?” asked the man, whose name tag said Tony. He stroked his mustache as he examined the photo.

“You seen her?”

He shook his head, still looking at it. “No.”

“I need to ask your drivers.”

The man glanced up at him. “And who are you?”

Tito pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. He flipped it open and showed his private investigator ID. He leaned on the counter, edging closer to the man, who drew away, obviously uncomfortable.

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