“That’s it?” she asked.
He looked at his duffle. He’d moved so often, bouncing from house to house. Sometimes he had a room of his own, more often he slept on a sofa or in a sleeping bag on the floor. Only after he became a cop was he able to appreciate the fact that he’d stayed out of foster care. “I’m used to packing light,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He was also getting used to keeping her close, one hand on her shoulder to guide her down the stairs in front of him. He dropped his hand when they reached the sidewalk, but she stayed on his left hip all the way to the car. He got her inside first, then dropped his bag on the backseat and slid in to the driver’s side.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“I know the protocol. I may not be happy about it, but I’ll make the right moves.”
“I appreciate it,” he said. “I’m not trained for close protection work.”
“I’ve got your back,” she said seriously. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “All I ask is that if I do something outside that protocol, you do your best to roll with it.”
“You handled yourself okay at the concert,” he said. “Let’s get some dinner and go through the psychos email file. I’ll feel better when I know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
“Eat in or take out?” she said around a yawn.
“We’ll get something to go,” he said. “I don’t want to have this conversation in a restaurant, and you look like you’re on your last leg.”
“The clock’s definitely ticking,” she said. “All I want is a hot shower, then about twelve hours of sleep.”
The air crackled for a moment as he remembered exactly what happened after the sleep-and-shower portion of the post-tour crash. “What kind of food do you want?”
“Barbecue,” she said. “Fat Shack. I’ll call them now and we won’t have to wait long for carryout.”
She made the call while he drove out of his apartment complex. The server knew her voice, because there was a short conversation before Cady could order. “Brisket or pulled pork? Sides?” she asked.
“Brisket sandwich, and fries are fine.”
“For you, maybe,” she said, and added corn bread, baked beans, and a brownie to the order.
“Billy will call me when it’s ready,” she said. “Normally I’d just wait inside like a normal human being, but right now I’m not up to a conversation.”
When they pulled up, the parking lot was jammed. Cady slouched down in her seat and watched the door. When her phone rang, she answered it, then dug two twenties out of the slot behind her phone and opened the door.
“Stay here. I’ll go,” he said.
“I said body guarding and driving only.”
“I have to go either way,” he pointed out.
“Okay, but we won’t make this a habit,” she said and handed him the money. “Billy won’t take it. Put it in the tip jar when he’s not looking.”
“Got it,” he said.
The restaurant was crowded, people waiting for takeout orders occupying every available inch of the benches on either side of the picnic table by the front window. The rest of the tables were full. The guy behind the counter handled Conn a white plastic bag. “She called and said you were coming. On the house. Say hi for me.”
“Thanks,” Conn said, and took the bag. When Billy looked at the next customer behind Conn, he tucked the twenties into the tip jar and made his escape.
He handed off the bag when he got in the car. She opened the tin foil and stuffed two fries in her mouth. “Want some?”
He got a handful from the bag and multitasked like a mad man, shifting and steering and claiming fries all the way down Tenth Street, cutting through the Cherokee Hill neighborhood to get to her house.
“I should have asked. Are you vegetarian? Vegan?”
“I don’t eat a ton of red meat,” he said.
She scanned him in a way that shouldn’t have been as crazy hot as it was, then lifted her eyebrows. “Really.”
“Chasing down bad guys is hard enough without stopping to puke. They laugh at you if you stop to puke.”
She had to open all the drawers to find the silverware, then started in on the search for the plates. “I’m still learning where everything is. Emily and Mom set up the house for me. I’ll get to know the setup when I decorate for Christmas. We’re having the holidays here so I’ll have to find the plates by … there they are.”
“I’d just eat it right out of the foil,” he admitted, ignoring the holiday talk in favor of the psychos email folder. “How strong is your stomach?”