Page 39 of Torched Spades
Meredith glances up from her phone, her narrowed gaze slicing a line from my splayed hands to my face. “Johnny?”
My heart catapults into my throat.
Good God, reel it in, Becca.
Removing my hands from the counter, I clasp them behind my back. “I mean, did Mr. Malone cancel his appointment?”
“No…” She stares at me for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Wait, his probation officer did.” Tossing her phone in her purse, she flips through a pile of scattered papers before pulling one and placing it on the counter. “Sorry, with all the new referrals this week, I forgot to tell you.”
I read every word, unsure why something feels so off. “Mr. Malone got a promotion?”
“Seems so.” She shrugs, then snaps her fingers again. “But now that I’m thinking about it, I remember that when I got this, I couldn’t switch him to a four o’clock appointment for today because you already had a patient. But don’t worry; he’s scheduled at four p.m. for the rest of the month.”
I nod, but I’m not really listening. I’m too busy staring at the official courthouse letterhead. “Wait, you said you got this last week?”
She nods, her huge hoop earrings swinging under her short pixie brown hair. “Yep. Think I still have the envelope here somewhere.” Returning to her pile of chaos, she burrows until returning with her prize tucked between her fingers. “Got it on Thursday.”
“Can I see that?” I ask. She hands it over, and the moment I see the damning red ink printed on the front, it’s all I can do to keep my voice steady. “This was postmarked on Wednesday morning.”
“So?”
“So according to Mr. Malone’s probation officer, he got the promotion on Monday.” I wave the envelope like a prosecutor about to go in for the kill. “But on Tuesday, he ended our session early, claiming he was late for work. When I reminded him he worked third shift, he didn’t correct me.”
“Again,so?”
“So if he’d just received such an impressive promotion twenty-four hours prior to our appointment”—I jab my finger in the middle of the letter—“why was he even here? Shouldn’t he have been at his new daytime shift?”
“Good question.” She quirks an eyebrow at the paper. “You think he’s lying?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I swipe the paper back and forth along the counter. “I think when something doesn’t add up, it’s because there’s an unknown variable in the equation.”
“Such as?”
“If I knew that, the variable wouldn’t be unknown, would it? But I will say it’s rather odd that a man with no former dock experience can move here, immediately get a job at the port, then in less than two months go from the dungeon to the ballroom.”
Instead of joining me in my outrage, Meredith leans back in her chair and grins.
I circle my finger at her face. “What’s with Cheshire Cat look?”
Cocking her chin, she twists her chair from side-to-side, her smile widening. “You have a thing for him.”
I roll my eyes. “Please… I’m concerned about my patient’s legal compliance. Nothing more.”A decree that’d be much more convincing if my cheeks weren’t on fire.
She shrugs. “Too bad. He’s ridiculously hot.”
“Meredith!”
“Don’t ‘Meredith’ me… I have eyes, Dr. Brennan,” she drawls, punctuating her point by jabbing two fingers toward her face. “Just because I prefer a socket to a plug doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate an attractive man.”
Now my cheeks aren’t just flushed; they’re hellfire red.
“Not appropriate,” I mutter, brushing my hand across my mouth to mask how hard I’m biting my lip.
Her lively chuckle tells me I’ve failed. “All I’m saying is if Nyla ever looked at me the way Johnny Malone looks at you, we’d never leave the house.”
Wait. Back up.
Spreading my fingers across my face, I stare intently through the gaps. “Looks at me,how?”
