Page 32 of Graveyard Dog

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. You’re smart, tenacious, and you’ve managed to keep that girl safe for five years while on the run.”

“That’s called blind luck.”

“That’s called being a mom.”

She gazed at him with deep appreciation. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He tipped an invisible hat. “And what brought you to Santa Fe again?”

We ended up in the parking lot of a diner on Cerrillos at two in the morning, exhausted, starving, and out of gas. The owner came out, fed us, and let us sleep in his storeroom. The next day, we met his wife. They offered me a job, and the rest is history.”

“This apartment is his son’s?”

“Yes. And the car belongs to the diner. He had me pick it out and paid cash for it right on the spot. He said he wanted to start doing deliveries, but we haven’t implemented that yet, so he’s letting me drive it for now.”

Michael didn’t have the heart to tell her that delivery drivers used their own vehicles. Did the restaurant owner buy her a car outright? “Okay, but why orange?”

“What?”

“The car. It’s orange.”

“And?”

“Like really orange.”

“It’s Soultronic Orange.”

“Sooo, it’s orange.”

“No, it’s Soultronic Orange.” She leaned closer and drew out the syllables. “Sooooultronic.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea. But it sounded cool at the time.”

She had him there.

His phone dinged. He checked it. “My friend Donovan is almost here. He also has a Bandits tattoo. In case you’re wondering, we aren’t in the life anymore. Though we’re thinking about starting a new motorcycle club called the Jalapeños.”

She snorted. “You’re going to name your motorcycle gang—”

“Club.”

“—after a chili pepper?”

“Yeah, but it’s a really hot one. And, I don’t want to brag, but my friends and I are pretty hot.”

The look on her face was worth the ridiculousness of his statement. Anything to get her to smile. Or, well, half-smile and half-grimace. Either way.

A soft knock sounded on the door. Special Agent Carson peeked inside. “Can I see you two for a minute?”

Izzy stood and checked Emma’s breathing and temperature before kissing her forehead and following Michael out. With Emma’s curly hair splayed on the pillow, and her eyes closed, she looked like a doll. Then again, so did her mother. She didn’t look real. She looked like an artist’s rendition of perfection. Surreal. Striking. Unattainable. Her features were so unusual they could be considered otherworldly.

He stopped short in front of her, and she looked up, paying special attention to his shoulders. “I don’t remember a bank vault door here.”

“Sorry,” he said, holding the door for her.

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