“Well, I haven’t been here very long, and . . . and I’m not sure how long I’ll stay, so . . .”
“I would’ve taken you for the roots kind.”
“Most people are the roots kind, aren’t they?”
“Most,” he answers flatly.
I tilt my head to one side to consider him—the warm skin at home in the sun, the raven hair still wet from a shower, the whiskey eyes that seem both hot and cold all at once. “But not you.” It’s not a question. It’s an observation. One he doesn’t bother to refute. He only watches me quietly.
“We’d better get going,” he finally says. With that, he picks up my busting-at-the-seams suitcase like it’s light as air and starts off down the sidewalk, leaving me to follow in his mysterious wake.
SIX
Jasper
I’m comfortable in the quiet. In fact, I prefer it. I thought I’d made the rules of this road trip clear to Muse in advance.
Evidently I didn’t make them clear enough.
“So, how did you get started in this kind of work?” Muse asks after less than an hour in.
I shrug. “Just sort of fell into it, I guess.”
“How does one fall into bounty hunting?”
“If you have the right skill set . . .”
“And how did you come by the ‘right skill set’?”
I sigh. Loud enough for her to hear. “I thought you weren’t going to ask questions.”
“I thought you said not to ask questions about your methods. You didn’t say anything about asking questions about you.”
“I like the quiet,” I tell her. She takes the hint.
—
Two hours later, I can tell she’s about to bust. She has filed her nails, organized some sort of list on her phone, cleaned out her purse and turned the radio on at least twice. Each time, I’ve turned it off.
Muse reaches down to pull off her shoes and tuck her feet up under her on the seat. “This is a nice car. Not quite what I pictured you driving.”
“It’s a long trip. I thought you’d appreciate a comfortable ride.”
I see her head jerk toward me. “You did this for me?”
I glance in her direction. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not completely heartless.”
“I—I didn’t say you were heartless.”
“No, but you were thinking it.”
She doesn’t argue.
—
Just after a quick and silent lunch of burgers and fries right outside Tucson, she tries again. “Where’d you get that watch? It looks like something a sniper would wear.”
I glance at the black square on my wrist. Not a sniper’s watch, but . . .
When I don’t answer, she asks more directly, “Were you in the military?”
“Yes,” I answer grudgingly.
Encouraged by my answer, she turns in her seat to face me. “Really? What branch?”
“The Army.”
“My father served in the Army. He went in because his father and both his brothers served. Did you have family in the military, too? Father? Brothers or sisters?”
I grit my teeth. These are not things that I want to think about, much less talk about. “I really need you to find something else to do with your time. I’m not the talkative, sharing type.” I twitch my head to the right and see the wounded slant to her big green eyes. I sigh again and turn back to the road. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just being honest.”
After a few seconds of silence, I glance back over at her. The twin emeralds are flashing. “Well then let me be honest with you. It’s been a really shitty year for me and now my father is missing. I can’t stand sitting here with nothing but time to think about what I might find back home. I’m sorry if polite conversation isn’t in your repertoire, but maybe, just maybe, you could make an exception just this once.” Her voice is louder, punchier at the end and I know her temper is on the rise.
Fire.
Damn, I’m liking that!
“I’m doing you a favor, Muse. You don’t want to get to know me.”
“Maybe I do. You can’t possibly know that.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to,” I confess quietly.
I hear her huff of frustration before she flounces back in her seat, crossing her arms stiffly over her chest and turning to stare out the window.
She’s better off not knowing me. She just doesn’t know it.
SEVEN
Muse
It’s dark when we arrive at our stopping point for the night. I’m relieved to be off the highway.
I ache. Mentally and physically. From too much stillness, I think. The only physical exertion I got all day was wallowing around in the passenger seat, taking two pee breaks and getting out to stretch while Jasper was in the drive-through at lunch. Mentally, the only stimulation I got was wrestling with my own private, tumultuous thoughts. Jasper provided me with . . . well, nothing. Nothing but the services of a chauffer and a heaping dose of frustration.