Page 11 of Sweet Pea

Clutch slammed down the rest of his club soda and waved goodbye to Sally Anne before leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

Callie

As promised, I textedRob with the meeting place as soon as Kimble had texted me. He wanted to meet at a local biker bar called Sally Anne’s, which wasn’t too much of a surprise given the Burning Saints owned the place. Rob replied immediately.

Rob: I don’t like it.

Me: It’s a public place.

Rob: It’s their turf.

Me: It’s a bar with exit doors.

Rob: Doors have locks.

Me: I promise I’ll leave if anything feels sketchy.

Rob: I’m on the record as saying this a bad idea, right?

Me: Noted.

Now that Rob was in the loop, I could finish getting ready. I plugged in my curling iron and thumbed through the Kimble file while it heated up. I’d become a pro at dressing between hearings, depositions, and countless meetings. I found I was wasting precious time running back and forth to my apartment to get changed, so I turned almost half of my tiny office into a makeshift wardrobe. Ruby didn’t require too much attention and was about as self-sufficient as a pet could be, but I was going to need to feed her soon. I made a mental note to stop by the pet store this weekend.

My phone buzzed again, and I huffed in annoyance. I was ready to put Rob on my Do Not Disturb list but was surprised to see it was another text from Sweet Pea.

Park in the back next to the bikes when you get here. No one will mess with your car.

I couldn’t decide if his text made me feel more, or less, safe. I continued to dress knowing damned well that I was meeting him either way. I’d made up my mind the moment he’d asked, and if there was one thing that was true about me, it was that once my mind was made up, there was no changing it. Growing up, my dad used to say I was “as stubborn as Baptist mule,” but I didn’t see myself that way. I was decisive, that’s all. I was more than willing to change my mind, I just rarely did.

I texted back. Taking an Uber. See you soon.

I figured if he was planning on sending me to the depths of the Columbia River, he should know that my ride to Sally Anne’s was documented and time stamped. Once I’d finished getting ready, I headed downstairs to wait for my ride.

“Good evening Miss Ames,” Jerry, the evening security guard said as I passed him.

“Hi, Jerry. How are Yolanda and the girls?” I asked.

“Keesha is bugging us about her driver’s permit every fifteen minutes and Tallah is obsessed with something called K-Pop.”

“Oooh, that’s rough.”

“I’m in a house full of women who control the stereo, the TV, and what goes inside the refrigerator. Every one of them thinks I’m an idiot, and to make matters worse, they speak in some sort of female code that I don’t understand.”

I laughed. “How do you get through it all?”

He chuckled. “I’m here, working nights.”

“Probably much quieter,” I said.

“And safer.” Jerry smiled wide. “I may be an idiot, but I’m not dumb.”

My car arrived and my mind raced as we drove to Sally Anne’s. I was starting to think Rob was right. Maybe I should have taken a beat to better process my feelings about the Knight case, but I was afraid if I did that, I’d talk myself out of what I was about to do. Even if the plan forming inside my head was wrong at every level, it was the only plan I had, and a plan meant some form of control.

My father’s nickname for me was Sharkey because, much like a great white, it was impossible for me to stay still for any length of time. “Swim or die, Sharkey!” he’d yell as I was tearing through the kitchen. On my way to my next adventure, I was very aware that this meeting with Kimble may have been less of a plan, and more of a deliberate stall tactic on my part. A way to avoid mourning the loss of the case or thinking about what my next career move would be.

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