Page 47 of Bears Behaving Badly
All the way to Annette’s, Caro clutched the notebook to her chest like a lifeline, which—ugh, so cheesy—it maybe was.
“I’m not going to ask if you ate. I’m sure she stuffed you like a Christmas capon.”
“What the hell is a capon?” David asked.
“A castrated male chicken that gets fattened up with milk and then devoured, often with a delectable sauce on the side. And potatoes! Lots of roasted potatoes. It’ssogood, David.”
Caro, meanwhile, had looked away and then slowly caught Annette’s gaze in the rearview again. Like she couldn’t help herself.If I were younger, I’d wonder if she was challenging me.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I was never going to leave you with Mama Mac for more than a couple of hours. I just wanted to see how you interacted with people whoweren’tusing you for trafficking. Plus, I live in Prescott, so the round trip would have taken too long.”
A smallHmph!sound, and Caro looked away again. But she was smiling. A little.
“Now what?” David murmured. “And if you say right-right-right, I’m driving us directly into a streetlight. After I unsnap my seat belt.”
“Noted. And I don’t know.” Back home, obviously, but then what? Seek out her boss’s boss? Gomph’s boss? With what? A mute trafficking survivor who refused to communicate? Lund’s incriminating pictures and files? Maybe. But they only proved that Lund had incriminating pictures and files in his apartment. They didn’t even prove Lund was complicit; they’d been hidden, and there was no way to prove Lund knew they were there.
Recent events indicated everyone left in the abuse cabal wanted Lund to take the blame. Going to the higher-ups would likely ensure that, because with Lund dead, everything could be tied up, stowed away, and forgotten. She could already hear the spin: That poor cub, but at least justice prevailed. Now it’s time for healing.
And then the rest of the scum-sucking, law-flouting troglodytes would scatter and start again somewhere else.
Unacceptable. So…
What? A tinny voice from Annette’s phone had started playing “Fuck You” by Lily Allen.
“What the hell is that?” David asked over the sound of Caro’s giggling. And say hey, wasn’tthata nice sound? Caro had a light, lilting laugh, like a Disney princess. One who could rip you to pieces at any time, possibly while giggling.
“That’s Lily Allen’s ‘Fuck You.’” Annette clawed for her ringing phone while trying to look casual so as not to alarm the others. Pat only hit the emergency button when there was a fire. Or drop-ins intent on felony assault. Or when the fridge fell on him. She held her breath and checked the screen. “Damn and triple damn. It’s Pat. Do you have any cherries in this thing?”
For reply, David reached out and flipped a switch to the left of the turn signal—
“Wait! I’m not talking about red candy!”
—and red lights began rotating from the grill.
“Siren?”
“No.” She had no intention of warning the soon-to-be-disemboweled that help was coming. Pat would know that and plan for it.
David stomped the accelerator. “Trouble.”
“I like how you didn’t say that with an upward inflection, as a question. Just a pronouncement.”
“Yeah, well. Pat doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to needlessly panic.”
“That,” she replied, “is putting it mildly.”
Chapter 19
Small and stuck. Again. And keeping away keeping out of the way because here came whistlers their guns weren’t loud they were quieter they whistled they
(silencers)
whispered and now the guns were on the floor now they were wolves going for the baker they wanted their teeth in
(Pat)
the baker who smells like vanilla except when he smells like pine trees, the baker who ordered Dev to shift and then grabbed him by the scruff
