Page 16 of His Last Shot
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My head tilts toward the windshield, and I squint one eye shut. There stands Scott. His eyebrow arches. I must have dozed off for just a second because I didn’t hear him get out of his truck. A rush of fresh, cool air sweeps through as I roll down the window.
“Hey,” I greet him, my voice hoarse.
“Hey there yourself, lover boy.” He lets out a chuckle. God, he knows me so well. “I knew you would talk to her. What time did you get in?”
Reaching out the window, I hand him his coffee. He immediately takes a sip. My gargantuan size cup meets my lips, and I gulp. “God, that tastes good.” I raise my fist to my mouth. “Ahem! Four am.”
Scott takes a step back as I open the door and pour out of my truck, rounding to the back to retrieve my tool belt. While I cinch it around my waist, I glance at the bed, and the whole evening crashes into my memory. I smirk, then unleash an enormous yawn as I stretch, twisting my arms overhead, my back cracking with each movement.
Scott whistles softly. “You up for this today?”
“Sure. I’m tired, but I’ll deal.” A grin spreads across my face uncontrollably. “Adrenaline coupled with this”—I hold up my coffee—“is the fuel that’s driving me forward right now.”
“Mmm … adrenaline, huh? Is that what we are calling it these days?” he asks through a laugh.
We begin our walk toward the row of duplexes that are being built, designed especially for senior citizens and the disabled. “Shut up,” I mumble while also stifling a smile.
“So tell me about it,” he implores as we step onto the porch of the build.
I fill him in on the details of most of the night. How I helped her clean up, then convinced her to go to Miller’s Bluff to stargaze. How we talked and talked until she ended things.
He chimes in with a grunt every so often as we work.
But there is a truth I keep to myself. Her RA. It’s not my place to divulge that information. That’s Rachel’s business and something I found out purely by accident. It’s her secret, therefore it’s mine.
He’s examining the work that was done on the porch railings as soon as I finish. “So you like her?”
“I do. A lot, actually. She’s different. And young.”
His focus abruptly shifts back to me. “How young?”
I take a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth of it coat my throat before I continue. “Thirty.”
“Geez, you scared me for a minute. When you said young, I thought like in her early twenties.” He crouches down, studying the base of the railing. “This edge right here needs to be closer to the house. Make a note to tell Richard.”
I grab my phone from my back pocket, open my notes, and type, then continue. “So you don’t feel like age is a factor.”
“No. Why would it? As long as it isn’t for you guys, why would it matter? You are both legal adults and then some.”
With the toe of my boot, I kick a piece of gravel and watch as it skitters across the ground. “Well, I have a feeling it matters to her. Unfortunately.”
He lets out a soft sigh as we step into the entryway of the duplex. “Well, to be truthful, I feel like age is the least of your issues. It’s her family I worry about. Especially her uncle.”
“You mean Dexter Jr.? The know-it-all we did business with?”
“One and the same.” As I walk into the kitchen, I sit my coffee on the concrete countertop, checking if the right cabinets were delivered while I wait for him to say more. He’s in the adjoining bathroom, fiddling with the toilet, more than likely.
I keep working and waiting, not so patiently, as each clank, bang, and whirl is adding to myanxiety.
For a beat or two, I hesitate, waiting, but he says nothing else. “Okay, you’re killing me. Care to elaborate?” I interject. “I mean, we had our suspicions when we took the job, but is there more?”
He meets me in the kitchen, studying me as I read the purchase order and check it against the boxes. “Just be careful.” He sucks in a long inhale. “I heard he’s someone not to be trusted, and he’s involved in some pretty shady stuff.”
“Who did you hear that from?” I feel like now would probably be a good time to tell him what I saw at the bar last night.
“One of the other subcontractors. He said that Dexter is possibly into heavy illegal gambling with a little bit of tax evasion thrown in. Crazy stuff. It made me nervous, so I went over our contract with a fine-toothed comb. I even had our lawyer give it a once-over. Thankfully, everything is good. But I doubt we should take on any work from him again.”
