Page 15 of Redeeming Rabbit

“Just a coworker. And he’s a nice guy, so don’t be a psycho.”

She had no idea how psychotic I could be. “No promises. I need to meet this asshole, then I’ll decide how to treat him.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m an adult now. I don’t need you to screen my friends.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Stay away from him. I mean it. Shit. Here comes my boss, and I’m not supposed to be on personal calls. Love you, bro. Please don’t get me fired.”

The line went dead.

“Rose?” Pulling my phone from my cheek, I confirmed that she’d hung up. My thumb hovered over the button to call her back, but I decided against it. She was proud of this job and would never forgive me if I was why she lost it. However, our conversation about Ryan was far from over. Wondering if Rose’s employer had a list of employees on their website, I thumbed open a browser. If I had the asshole’s last name, I could figure out the means to run a background check. Morse, the head of the club’s technical and security department, could do it. I just had to devise a compelling reason for him to break his moral code and help me out.

I couldn’t remember the name of Rose’s employer, so I gave up on the search and checked the time. Eleven-thirty-seven a.m.

Holy shit.

I’d lost four hours. No, that couldn’t be true. Yet… it was six-forty-five when I left to pick up Rose. It had to be about seven when I parked in front of the trailer. What the fuck had I done afterward? How long had I been under that goddamn table? My shift at the shop started at eight, and I was never late. There were others here qualified to do my job, and I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to take it. As far as bosses went, Wasp wasn’t bad. The position paid enough to cover my bills, and the excess had been steadily piling up in my checking account.

I’d overheard Zombie in the breakroom talking to Stocks about investing and had almost butted into the conversation. Stocks used to work for Wall Street until the pressure became too much for him. He snapped and had a meltdown of his own that resulted in a stint in jail and a hefty financial judgment. Now, he runs a halfway house with his wife and offers financial advisement services to our club members. I wanted to ask him for help with investing, but something had held me back. Investment sounded too much like commitment, and I wasn’t comfortable tying up my funds. What if I fucked up and lost my job?

Today, I’d proven that wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. But what would have been worse? Me refusing to talk to the shrink and being forced to take a few days off? Or getting fired when Sage voices his concerns that I’m not stable enough to work with automobiles?

I’d lost four hours today.

The adrenaline of my argument with Wasp drained from my veins, leaving me feeling wrung out. I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling, willing my memories from this morning to return.

Elenore.

Her image slammed into me like a goddamn beacon shining through the fog in my brain. I needed to work on remembering this morning’s events, but she was the only thing in focus. That goddamn bathrobe should have been illegal. I’d left my phone plugged in on the dresser. It probably didn’t even have a full bar of life yet. I was too tired to stand and keep it plugged in, but her social media accounts were calling my name. Her posts were infrequent, so I doubted I’d find new content, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to check.

“Pathetic dumbass,” I muttered as I unhooked the phone and wandered back to the bed. At least I was putting myself on a timer. I’d only look until the battery died.

As suspected, Elenore’s last activity had been the photo her company had tagged her in two months ago at some awards lunch. I’d drooled over all her public pictures last night, but I took the time to do it again, wondering how she was doing. Had Matt Parker ever shown up last night? I should ask Morse and find out. Peeling myself from the bed, I plugged my phone back in and headed downstairs, where I found our technology guru hunched in front of his computer, alone and thoroughly absorbed by something playing on his screen. Not unusual, considering it was his job to monitor the club’s many video feeds, but I’d never seen him so focused before. Curious about what had caught his interest, I crept in and peered over his shoulder. Some woman I didn’t recognize was weeding a garden on his screen. She was pretty if somewhat plain, conservatively dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He zoomed in. Her light brown hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and the barely noticeable lines around her eyes and lips made me put her age somewhere between thirty-five and forty. Morse wasn’t married, and it was impossible to tell how old he was. Judging by his looks, I’d guess closer to thirty, but he usually acted around eighty.

“What the fuck, man?” I asked.

He startled before body-blocking my view of his monitor. Morse quick as lightning, he closed the screen and turned to greet me with a nod. “Rabbit. What do you need?”

I chuckled. He was acting shady. If he thought he could get out of explaining himself, he was in for a surprise. I peered past him to the screen and said, “Ineedto know what the hell that was.”

“That’s classified.”

Sure it was. “I never took you for a kinky bastard, but if gardening porn is your thing, who am I to judge?”

“You’re ridiculous.” He opened a file on his screen, then glanced in my direction, not quite looking at me. “What’s up?”

“You. Spying on some poor woman. You bein’ a creep, brother?”

His jaw ticked. “I told you that stream is confidential.”

“Right. Definitely business. I could tell by the way you were drooling over her.”

“I wasn’t….” He shook his head. “She’s the wife of a friend, okay? I’m keeping an eye on her for him.”

“The plot thickens. She a cheater? You trying to catch her in the act?”

“No. Her husband’s dead.”

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