Page 72 of Nemesis

“He already made that perfectly clear, thank you.”

“He—”

“I do not want to talk about Nathan Bradshaw and warrants and dead bodies,” I snap. “I just want to do my work and prepare for this meeting and then go home.”

It never works out that way, though.

Apollo raises his hands in surrender, but that never means what I think it means. And true enough, he takes a seat at the bar and fiddles on his phone in silence. Seemingly convinced that I’m not well enough to leave unattended, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

Eventually, the prep cooks come in, and slowly the rest of the staff arrive, too. Antonio joins me at our table, a stack of papers in his hands.

“Inventory,” he says. “And the schedule.”

“Perfect.” I take the pages and flip through, scanning the numbers. It seems in order, and also in line with the end of the tourist season.

“Nice sweatshirt,” he comments.

I glance down.

It’s clean, washed, and unfortunately back to the scent of laundry detergent. After Saint pushed me off the cliff, I couldn’t very well leave it salty. There’s an embroidered emblem on the breast, an eye with a snake poised to strike behind and over it.

I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest.

But now I frown, because…

I don’t know.

I’m not taking it off, though.

“I wanted to be comfortable,” I murmur, tapping the sheaf of papers on the table. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not in the slightest.” He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t judging, Tem.”

“Uh-huh.” I stand, and our staff goes quiet.

I’m glad I don’t have to yell for them to shut up.

“Good morning,” I call. “Better to get the work over with so you guys can have a good lunch, right?”

They voice their assent, and my gaze flicks to Apollo. He’s watching me a little closer now. I push my shoulders back and lift my chin. It doesn’t matter what he thinks—I’ll prove that I’m fine.

Nightmares, dead bodies, and new gangs or not.

Nathan Bradshaw’shouse is small, tidy, and tucked into a bustling neighborhood of East Falls. It’s close to the Financial District and downtown, where his offices are, and I think hecame to some sort of agreement with the Hell Hounds to leave his particular block alone.

Not that they mess with anyone, really.

Okay, they totally do. But not on Nathan Bradshaw’s street.

I leave my car at the corner and stroll down the sidewalk, my hands in my pockets. Heshouldbe at work, which is why I’m choosing broad daylight to make my move.

The street is quiet, most people still working at this time of day. When I’m two houses away from his, I cut down a driveway and into a backyard. People in this neighborhood don’t fence their yards, which has always felt strange to me.

West Falls is totally different. But here, there’s theslightestbit more breathing room between the houses, and the yards all seem to mesh into one another. It makes crossing them to get to his back door easier anyway.

I climb the steps to his back porch and crouch, flipping the mat up. The sheriff is too fucking predictable, and a key gleams at me. I unlock the door, then pocket it.

Silence.

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