Page 4 of Perfect Harmony

Preacher’s gaze dropped to his body cam.

“I haven’t activated it yet,” Gideon said.“Whose car is this?”

“A friend’s,” Preacher said. “Why are youworking tonight?”

“I took an extra shift. What’s going on?I thought you were having dinner with old friends?”

Preacher just shrugged and looked out thewindshield again. Gideon watched the bead of sweat roll down the side of hisface. “Look at me, Preacher.”

“Just go, Gideon.” Preacher’s hands weregripping the steering wheel so tightly, Gideon wasn’t sure how it hadn’t snapped.

“Preacher -”

“Leave, Gideon.”

Preacher’s voice was edged in brightpanic. Gideon’s cop sense kicked in, that tingling at the base of his skullthat made the world a little brighter and a little louder. He bent down,putting his face near Preacher’s. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

Preacher didn’t answer, but his gazeflicked to the right at the row of buildings before arrowing in on the road again.Gideon stared at the buildings. The street ran behind the back of a smallstrip mall. There wasn’t much in the mall, just a couple of higher-end women’sclothing shops, a Starbucks, a dentist office, and - Gideon’s stomach tightened- a jewelry store.

Preacher was parked on the street directlybehind the jewelry store. Gideon gripped the window edge of the car andglanced behind him. He could see the glow of Maurice’s phone and see the vagueshape of Maurice’s face as he played his Candy Crush game.

He faced Preacher again, pitching his voicelow despite Maurice’s distraction and the emptiness of the street. “Tell mewhat’s going on.”

“If you’re my friend, you’ll get back inyour car and fucking leave,” Preacher said.

“It’s because I’m your friend that I can’tleave,” Gideon said. “You working a job?”

Preacher’s jaw clenched so hard Gideon wassurprised he didn’t hear molars cracking. “What if I am?”

“Don’t do this, Preacher. Not when you’reso close to being free.”

“I have to,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” Gideon said. “Your paroleis done in two months. Don’t fuck that up.”

Preacher sucked in a breath. “I’m nevergonna get a loan. If I want my own shop, I need money. This is how I get it.”

“This is not how you fucking get it,”Gideon said. “You think being a getaway driver for a bunch of two-bit thieves isgonna give you your dream? How’d that work out for you the last time you didthis? Huh?”

Preacher didn’t reply, and Gideon reached outand squeezed his shoulder. “Four years you were behind bars, man. Four goddamnyears. You really want to go back to that place? Do you want to be that guyagain?”

Preacher stared out the windshield, hisshoulders as rigid as concrete.

“Drive away,” Gideon said.

“I can’t. I need the money.”

“Not like this.” Gideon glanced behind himagain. Maurice was giving him an impatient look, and he raised his hand in a ‘oneminute’ gesture. “I’ll help you get the money to open your own shop. Iswear. We’ll find a way to make it work together. All you have to do isleave.”

“I leave and I’ll never have my own shop.”

“You will,” Gideon said. “I promise you.”

When Preacher stayed silent, Gideon said,“Simon, trust me.”

Preacher’s nostrils flared and he sucked inanother deep lungful of oxygen.

Gideon stepped away from the car. “Driveaway, Simon. Please.”

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