Page 75 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

I roll my eyes. “Why did Matt tell him to go here? Why was Unknown downloading videos here in the first place? Why—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She kills the engine, and we sit in silence. “It looks shitty.”

The diner across the street is… not someplace I would expect Caleb and Matt to go. The sign’s lights flicker on, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon.

Riley graciously decided to cut class in order to accompany me on this adventure, but from the expression on her face, she’s regretting it.

“Lucky’s Diner,” I read. “I just… Expected something fancier.”

“Who do you think is in there?” she asks. “Are we going in as like, ‘Oh, just coming in for a meal, don’t pay us any mind!’”

I laugh. “You’d make a horrible spy.”

She flips her hair. I have a flashback to Amelie and Savannah doing similar moves, but I shove it out of my head.

“You know what’s horrible?” she asks. “That you’re graduating in a semester and I’m going to be stuck there for another year.”

“Yeah, that does suck. But I’ll probably still be around. Maybe I’ll get a job as the school janitor’s assistant. Then you’ll still see me every day.”

She snorts. “You’re ridiculous. You’re going to college, remember?”

I shrug. If I wanted to go, I’d have to apply.

And then get accepted.

And then come up with the money for tuition.

“Robert comes home tomorrow,” I say. “Today’s my last day to figure this out.”

She groans. “Okay, fine. Let’s go into Lucky’s Diner—which, for the record, looks pretty damn unlucky.”

We’re the only car front and center in the parking lot. There are a few parked in the back corner, but those are probably employees. In the few minutes we’ve sat here, no one has come in or out.

“Okay. Yeah.” I unbuckle and climb out.

Riley follows suit, and together, we walk toward the diner.

The back of my neck prickles, and I pause, glancing behind me.

“Catch up, tomato,” Riley calls.

I wrinkle my nose, scanning the area.

Nothing except for a deserted lot.

“‘Catch up, tomato?’”

“Like ketchup?” She elbows me. “Dad used to say that to me all the time.”

I shake my head. “Absurd.”

“Gladly so.”

I let her go through the door ahead of me, hesitating before I enter. The niggling feeling of someone watching me hasn’t gone away. I look behind me one last time.

“Paranoia,” I say on an exhale. I’m glad I don’t see anyone. I don’t need any dark figures lurking around corners, waiting for me to misstep.

“Welcome to Lucky’s,” the hostess says.

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