Page 159 of Not Another Yesterday
“You’re right back in your element, aren’t you?” I ask dryly.
That makes him laugh. “It’s what I do, Ran.”
“Uh-huh. So, we just sit here?”
“Youare going to sit here,” he says, already popping his door open. “I’mgoing inside to see what I can see.”
“No, I want to—”
“Ronan,” he says sharply. “Stay put. For now, okay? Please.”
I exhale loudly but do as I’m told. He crosses the street and disappears into the store. It’s maddening just sitting here alone with my nerves while my dad scopes the place out. Every second stretches too long. But still, I wait.
He comes back ten minutes later with a small bag in his hand.
“You bought something?” I ask as he tosses it into the backseat.
“Had to make it look legit, right?” he says with a half-smile that’s basically a carbon copy of mine. It’s weirdly comforting. People say I look like my mom—light hair, green eyes—but the shape of my face, the way I move, even some of my facial expressions… that’s all him. And I’ve heard more than once now that I sound like him, too.
“So?” I ask. “What kind of intelligence were you able to gather, Lieutenant Colonel?”
That earns a real laugh. “Cormac is in there,” he says, and I swallow hard. “Go inside, take a look around. You’re looking for a guy in his early forties, short dark-blond hair, average build, khaki pants, and a fitted navy shirt. Oh, and buy something. Zip ties or whatever.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, but just to clarify: why do you want me to buy zip ties? Are we planning to kidnap this dude?”
He laughs again. “Go ahead, Ran. Go check him out.”
I open the door and step out, my stomach tight as I cross the street. When I push open the shop door the overhead bell jingles, and I spot Cormac behind the counter. My dad’s description was dead-on. He doesn’t look up as I walk in.
I stand there for a moment, watching him, trying to detect traces of my mom in his features.
“Do you need help finding anything?” a voice says beside me.
I flinch and turn toward the girl—probably about my age—who’s suddenly standing there, waiting.
“No, uh… yeah,” I stammer. “Where are your zip ties?”
Smooth.
“Right this way,” she says cheerfully.
I tear my eyes away from Cormac and follow the girl as she gestures down an aisle.
“Are you looking for a particular size?” Her gaze flicks to my jeans, then back up. She swallows. “Eight inches? Nine?”
I blink.Was that a sexual innuendo?
“Uh, do you have a variety pack?” I ask, thinking quickly.
“Yeah, we have one that ranges from four inches to eighteen,” she says as we stop in front of a shelf.
“Perfect,” I say, grabbing the plastic container stuffed with about 500 zip ties in assorted colors and lengths.
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“No, I think that’s it,” I say, feeling like such a fucking idiot for some reason.
“Great. I can ring you up,” she says, leading the way to the register.
