Page 70 of Micah

My jaw tightens.

Patrick's leaning against the register, talking to some guys instead of helping.

Worthless bastard.

My shower takes exactly three minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

I know because the timer on the bathroom wall tells me.

Military habits die hard.

I wrap a towel around my waist and walk back toward the bedroom, already mentally planning the drive into town.

Maybe I'll catch her before closing.

Help stack chairs.

Walk her to her van.

Make sure she gets home.

That's all.

Nothing weird about that.

My phone chirps.

Not a text.

An alert.

Priority.

My heartbeat kicks.

I snatch the phone off the dresser.

Camera Seven.

Rear parking lot.

The Watering Hole.

Live feed.

“Fuck.”

The word tears out of me before I even realize I'm speaking.

A black SUV rolls into the back lot.

Too clean.

Too expensive.

Windows blacked out.

Not local.