Page 76 of Heart Sick

I can only hope the cops feel the same way because when I unlock their car, I know there’s no room for error. I pick up the walkie-talkie and press the button to connect to home base.

“Reynolds, aren’t you off the clock?” laughs a woman on the other end. Her friendly demeanor has me guessing she and the cockhead are friends.

I don’t know how Reynolds sounds, but from the looks of him, I assume a cocky asshole. “No rest for the wicked,” I reply, covering my hand over the speaker, hoping to disguise my voice. “I’m in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. Bad line, so I’ll make it quick.”

“I can barely hear you,” she says, which just spurs me on.

“Can you email me the file on that kid, Jack? The one who crashed his car at Woodland Waterfalls. Insurance needs it. Email them at this address please,” I say firmly, giving her my email address.

I’m thankful I created a boring email address as a backup because it’s come in handy.

I hear her typing away without asking questions. “Sure thing.”

That was easier than I thought. I hope my luck hasn’t run out when I put the final part of this plan into play. “Can you believe I was out buying”—I see a packet of Marlboros in the middle console—“a pack of smokes.”

“The doctor told you to stop!” scolds the woman.

Worked like a charm.

“I know, and I will, after Christmas.”

“That’s what you always say.”

And so does every smoker, sweetheart. But I keep that to myself and continue.

“I know, but you know I don’t like to follow the rules.”

“Oh, I know,” she purrs and confirms that Reynolds is a slimy bastard who probably turns on the charm to any pretty face to get some pussy.

“Anyway, I saw that pair who escaped from Parkfields Hospital. Brought them back so you can file that paperwork and clear it from our system. No point wasting our time on two crazy fucks any longer.”

I don’t know what the term is, but she does as I hear her typing. “Can I see you later?” She lowers her voice, which means their affair is secret.

Reynolds should not be shitting where he eats, as office romances always end with someone being bludgeoned to death with the copier machine.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Sounds like some evasive answer an asshole would give.

“Okay. It’s all done.”

I can’t believe it was that easy. But when I think of what Luna is currently doing, I realize there is no easy.

“See you later, baby.” I place the walkie-talkie back on the console and exit the car. I don’t know what to do with the keys, so I drop them by the front tire in hopes Reynolds thinks he was holding onto something else, like his dick, other than his keys.

I don’t go back to the club and it fucking kills me inside. I imagine every vile scenario and multiply that by ten thousand as I enter our room and wait for Luna. I think of the way she danced on stage and how every man will no doubt go home tonight and use her for jerk-off material.

The thought makes me crazy jealous, but it also gets me hot because I like they want what is mine. The door opens and I turn around to see Luna enter. She closes the door and the fact she won’t meet my eyes has me wanting to go back out there and beat Reynolds and his little comrade to death with my bare fists.

She reaches into the pockets of a long white fur coat, which I assume she stole from one of the girls, and tosses handfuls of money onto the bed. This is like a movie where one would lie among their wealth and bask in the riches.

But I know what she did to earn it and I hate to think of the extra services she provided to get it.

“There’s enough there to keep us going for a while. Until we come up with a plan,” she says, a hint of uncertainty to her tone. She doesn’t understand why I’m not happy. “I think I did that for a job before, well, before this.”

She’s nervous. She’s wringing her hands together while I stand impassively.

“Were you able to get into the police car?”

I nod once, arms folded as I think of that motherfucker, Reynolds, and his hands all over her.

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