Despite my best efforts, my thoughts kept circling back to Knight’s reaction when I mentioned Jill’s baby. Some things aren’t easy even in the best of circumstances. I knew it was pointless to try and analyze his statement, but I also knew that too much sugar was bad for me yet I continued to load my coffee with it. Did Knight know about Zack? Maybe Zack was gone for good, and Jill was fated to be a single mom. That would certainly count as “not easy.” Or, perhaps Jill would go into early labor, and Steeev and I would have to deliver her baby on the kitchen table.
I suppressed a shudder. Those labor and delivery videos remained vivid and gruesome in my mind. If Jill popped the bean out on my table, I’d be visiting the furniture store the next day.
My thoughts wandered into darker “not easy” territory, and I yanked them back. I didn’t want to imagine what the worst possible scenarios might be. Not for Jill. Not for my best friend and her baby.
“Ruthie added new ice cream flavors since I was last there,” I said, contributing to our scintillating conversation as I fought to distract myself.
Steeev glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I quite enjoyed the Hazelnut Scuttlebutt,” he replied with an overly bright smile—by human standards, at least. As a syraza, it was possible he truly found hazelnut-coffee ice cream deserving of enthusiasm. “Should we return,” he continued, “I would be most pleased for the opportunity to sample the Beachy Peachy Luau Wow.”
“That one’s pretty good,” I agreed. “Be sure to ask for the caramel syrup. Brings out the flavor of the macadamia nuts”
“I will do that,” he said with a serious nod.
Jill let out a soft sigh. “Ice cream didn’t help much.”
With that sentence the mood in the car plummeted. A taut silence descended upon us as Jill alluded to the taboo subject. A dozen different responses leaped to mind, any of which had the potential to upset Jill or start an argument—even ones intended as comfort. Yet a glance out the window told me we weren’t far from my driveway. I only needed to hold back another minute or two, and we’d be home.
Steeev hit the remote for the gate as he slowed to pull into the driveway. Concentrating with inhuman intensity, he assessed the gate’s movement and adjusted the speed of the car to avoid the need to stop. Whether an intentional tactic or simply a game, there was no mistaking the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes when he made it through without a pause. The gate closed behind us, and gravel crunched as we continued up the driveway. A few more seconds and we’d be at the house. I didn’t really need to raise an already sore subject with Jill, did I?
Screw it. “I think you need to start your maternity leave right now,” I blurted then tensed for an acid response.
“I texted my captain when we were at Ruthie’s,” she said with the same ordinary, matter-of-fact tone that she would use to point out that pine trees had needles.
“Oh?” I replied, cautiously relieved. Very cautiously. She might have simply texted her captain about one of her cases. The woman was tricky like that. Steeev pulled up to the house and killed the engine but didn’t get out of the car. It was obvious he desired absolute clarity on the matter as well.
She glanced at the two of us, amusement glimmering in her eyes at his hesitation and my wary tone. “I need to take a file to the lab in the morning, sign off on three cases, brief my replacement tech, and then I’m finished.”
“Yay!” I snapped off my seatbelt and lunged forward to throw my arms around her and her seat. “Maybe Steeev will stop having that pained expression on his face all the time.”
Jill let out an actual giggle. The syraza muttered under his breath in demon as he exited the car then executed a perfect backflip—his own brand of commentary on the matter. He bounded up the steps, and we climbed out and followed at a more sedate pace, smiling at his antics.
Jill paused on the porch to catch her breath as Steeev disappeared into the house. “Before you get any silly ideas,” she warned me, “I’ll be off work, but don’t expect me to take over your chores.”
“Are you kidding?” I let out a deep sigh of mock disappointment. “You got winded going up three steps. You’re useless—ow!” I grinned and rubbed my arm where she’d punched. “Okay, not useless. Still a badass. I’ll let you take the hold-down-the-sofa chore.”
She smiled sweetly. “That’s more like it.”
“If you promise not to punch me again, I might even come over and clean your bathroom.” I opened the door for her to enter, then followed. “I’m just glad those two assholes didn’t—” I choked back the rest of my sentence at the sight of Pellini down the hall at the kitchen table. “—get . . . their ice cream,” I said, blundering to a finish. Pellini didn’t know any details of our interactions with Farouche and his men. It needed to stay that way, and not because I didn’t trust him. Pellini was an active duty police officer. Though I knew he had suspicions, as long as they weren’t confirmed, he couldn’t get into trouble for associating with us.