Page 56 of Resisting the Boss (Dirty Hot Resistance 4)

I do find it odd but I choose not to say anything.

When she plugs in her phone to play some music, the atmosphere lightens up and I have to spend the rest of the car ride listening to her belt out the songs one after the other to my amusement.

“Come on, Jace.” She nudges me. “I know you know this one!”

“No.” I try to save myself. “I’m a terrible singer and I really don’t—”

“Oh, come on!” She coaxes, laughter in her eyes. “I’m no Celine Dion—what are you, shy?”

“No!” I glare at her.

“So, sing it with me.” She bares her teeth in a grin. “Unless, of course, cluck, cluck.” She makes the sound of a chicken, her hands making makeshift wings.

“I’m not chicken,” I growl. When she doesn’t cease, I grumble, “Stop it!”

“Sounds like you’re scared. Just one song?” She starts wheedling.

Knowing there is no chance she will shut up without having her way, I reluctantly give in.

It’s a nineties song that she’s singing along to and I recall the lyrics as my mother used to have it playing on her cassette player in our house. But I awkwardly stumble through it, my voice not at all suited to the timbre bass required for the song, and after a few lines, I fade into silence, preferring to listen to Halley’s voice, which is surprisingly in tune.

“Why’d you stop?” she asks, disappointed.

My lips curve, slightly. “I like to hear you sing.”

“Really?” She snickers. “Although, considering you haven’t said ‘shut up, Halley’ in the last hour, maybe you really do.”

“I don’t say that a lot—”

“You do!” She laughs. “It’s like your mantra. The other day I wasn’t even saying anything and the room was silent then all of a sudden, you blurted out, ‘shut up, Halley’.” She’s laughing, loudly.

I feel my ears burning. “My bad.”

“It’s okay,” she tries to reassure me between her chuckles. “I think it’s funny because I keep on talking and you just give up.”

I snort, amused.

We reach the city just before lunch and Halley’s growling stomach has me take a detour to the first restaurant I see.

We’re both a bit hungry, and after lunch, we find ourselves being greeted by Dominic Hale, who is a balding man with a face resembling a bull dog. He’s a courteous individual, and as we sit down, he shoots me a curious look but doesn’t comment on my presence.

The key he provides Halley is in an envelope. “I know you wanted your uncle to handle this but I think it’s a good decision for you to come here yourself. Your mother entrusted me with a few things that were only to be given to you, not your legal guardian. I would have felt uncomfortable handing them to Raymond even if we are old friends.”

Halley opens the envelope and studies the rusty-looking key, a strange look in her eyes. “My mom gave this to you?”

Mr. Hale nods.

“When?”

“Four months before she disappeared.”

Halley’s fingers tighten on the small key.

I can tell what she’s thinking, the look of devastation on her face. Her mother had been planning it for a while.

“I don’t get it,” she mutters as we walk to the bank. “Mom didn’t have any family. It was just her and me. Who was she running from?”

The bank manager is helpful and he seemingly recognizes Halley, greeting her warmly.

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