Page 28 of Deceitful Oath

Also, I should probably stop reading thrillers and murder mysteries at night.

Determined not to spend the next two hours holding my bladder as I drive around the city, I head to the stairwell. The stairs are creaky, but an automatic light switches on as soon as I step down. I breathe out a sigh of relief and walk faster.

By the time I get to the basement and find the bathroom, I’m internally laughing at my silliness. It’s perfectly clean and safe, and my bladder feels a million times better.

My good mood instantly returns, like the first warm rays of summer sun after a long winter. I skip up the stairs, excited to get my coffee, finish my rounds, and take a much-needed nap before I head to The Velvet Room.

“Was that your red Toyota out front?”

I nod at the barista, grabbing my coffee off the counter and rooting around in my pocket for the change. “Yep, that’s my little shitbox.”

“Do you have a boyfriend…or brother, or something?” I glance at her, confused, but a blush creeps across my face.

“I mean, it’s new,” I say confidentially, leaning onto the counter. “But I’m hoping that…”

“Because a man just got in your car and drove away,” she cuts me off, staring pointedly out the window.

“Wait, what?” I sprint to the window, staring at the empty street. My Toyota is decidedly not where I left it a few minutes ago. “What the hell?”

I pat down my pockets, searching for the keys. I know I had them in my hand when I exited the car.

My heart rate accelerates, and sweat breaks out across my forehead. I run back to the counter, madly focused on findingmy keys, all the while knowing they won’t make my car magically reappear.

“You want me to call the police or something?”

I glance up at the barista’s bored face. She stares at me like this isn’t something new for her, like it’s just the routine Friday morning auto theft.

The pigeon.

That goddamn bird.

I must have dropped my keys when it attacked my face. Staring helplessly out the window, I struggle to hold back my tears. My car is gone—but not only my car, the packages. Shit. This is bad, really bad.

“Okay, yeah,” the barista drawls behind me. “I’m calling the cops.”

I nod at her, sinking into an empty chair by the window to wait. A squad car pulls up moments later, red and blue lights flashing as they park where my Toyota once stood.

“They patrol here often,” the barista says, making me jump. I turn to see her standing behind me, checking out the cruiser. “Not the first time some tourist had their car stolen in this neighborhood.”

“I’m not…” I try to correct her, but she’s already walking away, shaking her head at me.

The two officers take my statement and information, letting me know they’ll do everything possible to track down my car. And just like that, I’m left alone on the sidewalk, clutching my watered-down iced coffee.

I pull out my phone and dial the warehouse as I start walking in the direction of my neighborhood.

“Hey,” I greet the operator. “It’s Lux Davis. Can I talk to Mike Waters?”

My stomach flips and twists as I wait for my supervisor to pick up the call. Mike’s a good guy, but he doesn’t appreciate my tendency to be late in the mornings, so this can go either way.

I mean, technically, my car getting stolen isn’t my fault.

“Lux, what can I do for you?”

His gruff voice makes me jump and I try to calm myself down as I turn off the street into a park. Sunshine streams in through the thick, leafy tree tops. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers.

Children’s laughter, ducks in the pond, and car horns from the road behind me create a comforting city soundscape. It doesn’t do much to settle my spinning head and lurching stomach.

“Mike, you’re not going to believe this,” I say, plopping down on a wooden bench. “My car got stolen.”

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