Page 9 of Heathen

I make note of this address as well before driving off because a thousand dollars' worth of ruined food would be much too difficult to explain. I have enough information about her now to give to Rooster in order for him to determine if she might be in danger.

Rooster, being the decent human being that he is, meets me outside when I arrive. He had to have heard the chime inside when the front gate to the property opened.

"Thanks, man," I say when I climb out of the driver's seat and head to the back with him following me.

"Damn," he says when he steps around and sees the pile of toilet paper packs. "You really bought a lot."

"Eleven bathrooms, eleven packs," I mutter, wondering if I should even bring up the woman and the mysterious places she drove past.

We work together to make several trips into the kitchen to get it all unloaded.

"This house is too fucking big," Rooster mutters as he carries in the last load, panting like he just ran a marathon.

"I think it has more to do with your dietary selections than the distance to the driveway, man," I say with a wide smile.

"There's nothing wrong with my food," he mutters.

"Really?" I ask, pulling a pack of the mostly still frozen pizza pockets from one of the bags. "Do you have any idea how much sodium is in one of these things?"

He grabs it from my hand, smiling again. "Leave me alone."

"So," I say after a few minutes of us unloading groceries and figuring out which cabinets to use for which items. "Did you get your system up and running?"

He pauses, pulling in a deep, clearly annoyed breath before responding. "We're hitting a glitch. Did you need something?"

I explained what happened at the grocery store, giving him the license plate number and address I committed to memory.

"Did you ever think she just didn't want to talk to you?" he asks when I've given him everything I know.

I tilt my head a little, considering this. "Possibly, but then why is she going to some seedy-ass place after work?"

He shrugs. "Because it's a free country?"

I grab the loaves of bread from the counter and shove them onto a shelf in the massive pantry before turning back to him.

"She gave me a bad vibe, like something was off with her."

"People have bad days and you knocked over her display and then made fun of it."

"I didn't… Jesus, dude. Really? I didn't make fun of it or her."

"Was she pretty?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"That answers my question and the other one I didn't ask."

"And what question would that be?" I ask as I grab several boxes of different crackers off the counter and make a place for them in the pantry.

"You're butthurt that she didn't just fall at your feet."

"I'm not that egotistical," I mutter.

"How often do you get shot down?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," he answers. "You flirted, she didn't care, and now your feelings are hurt so badly that you're trying to convince yourself that she has to be in danger or under someone's control because that's the only explanation for not flirting back."

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