Page 39 of Property of Yak

“You are obsessed with that cat.”

“I can’t help it. She’s just so cute,” I say, just as Tabby meows from the other room.

“So why are you really here while on shift? Is everything okay?” I ask as I cross my arms over my chest.

Dad rubs the back of his neck.

“Daddy…” I press.

He sighs. “There have been reports of a motorcycle frequently being in the area. I decided to patrol the area myself.”

“Dad…” I sigh. “Just because someone drives a motorcycle doesn’t mean they are doing nefarious things.”

He shrugs. “I’d rather be safe than sorry. You’re my little girl.”

“I bet it’s just someone who lives in the area who recently got one. There’s a guy down the street. He looks like he’s in his twenties and seems like the type to have a motorcycle. I bet it’s him.”

Dad’s eyebrows raise and he teases, “You know what guys who ride motorcycles look like now, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m just saying, I bet you are worrying about nothing.”

“You’re probably right. Which is why I wanted to see for myself.”

I cross my arms. “Does this mean the patrols are going to stop?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He looks away, his tic when he’s lying.

“Come on, Dad. I know you have officers doing drive-bys multiple times a night. I’ve seen more of your officers than I have a guy on a bike.”

“I just like knowing you’re safe.”

Before either of us can say anything else, his radio squawks. Dad listens as the dispatcher reads off the order. After he radios back, he pulls me into a quick hug.

“Be safe,” I tell him.

“I’ll be fine. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He pulls away and opens the door. “Lock the door behind me.”

“Will do.”

Dad walks out, and I lean against the door frame. We wave at each other before he gets in. Only when he takes off do I step back inside and shut the door, locking it behind me.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I know he didn’t buy my lie about the cameras. He knows me better than that. He’s going to question it again the next time he sees me.

Opening my eyes, I look over at the camera that’s tucked into the side of my bookshelf. If he wasn’t watching when I pulled in, I bet he was when my dad got here.

Do I text him and admit that Dad was here? Let him know what was said? Or do I wait for him to message me?

Indecision weighs heavy on me for a moment, but I decide that I should message him first.

I grab my phone from my purse and walk over to the couch. As I sit down, I kick off my heels and tuck my feet under me.

Me

Hi.