Page 50 of Renard's Deliverance

“Are you sure?” Opal asked as he headed toward his truck.

“Yep. Got stuff to do. The day’s wasting away.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Was she sad he was leaving? Maybe he should stay . . . no. Nope. He had other things he needed to do.

He got into his truck and started it up before lowering the window.

She had followed him over and now leaned in. “Thanks for the help, even though I didn’t ask for any.”

His lips twitched. “Welcome.”

“I’m sorry about them. Don’t know why they are acting like this.”

“You don’t?” He tilted his head to the side.

“No. Do you?”

“Hmm, well, they’re Malones. So they’re always pains in the ass.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth,” she muttered.

“But also, they’re acting like I would if I had a younger sister. See ya, Opal.”

He reversed out of the driveway and drove away without looking back.

Okay, he glanced back briefly to see her staring after him.

And it took a lot to keep driving.

Renard pulled up behind his apartment. He didn’t need much, but Saxon had insisted on finding him a decent place to live in.

Walking in, he sat down and stared around it. This place might be furnished, but it felt empty. He hadn’t added a single thing since moving in. Not a photo or a knick-knack. Not a cushion or picture for the walls.

What was the point?

He didn’t really like being here.

Fuck.

Getting up, he walked back out and headed to the restaurant. He might as well check on how badly things were going.

Maybe Chip needed him.

Walking in, he immediately smelled something off. Moving to the oven, he peered in and saw a tray of potato gratin. Opening the door, he drew it out.

Fuck, it was burned on the top.

“Renard!”

Glancing over, he saw Malina standing there, eyes wide and frightened.

Tread carefully.

“What the hell is going on?” he grumbled. “This should have come out of the oven fifteen minutes ago.”

“I was coming back,” she told him, tugging at the sleeves of her top. “I’m so sorry. I . . . I just . . . I . . .”

---