Other stuff? This is all I saw her bring from the house. “What stuff?”
“Just that shitty old computer from the shop.” She opens the door to her backseat and backs up so I can toss her duffel bags in. “I packed it up last night after you left. That and my kit . . . I bring it home with me every night, anyway, but thank God I left it in the car, or those assholes would have torn it apart. Oh my God.” She shakes her head. “I would have gone homicidal if they had fucked up my kit. That’s the only thing I own that I actually really care about.”
Her words drift as their meaning begins to sink in.
Her kit.
She brings her kit everywhere with her.
But . . . I frown. No. I saw the inside of it yesterday. There wasn’t any videotape in there. I would have noticed that.
“Hey.”
I look down to find her already sitting in the driver’s seat, seat belt on, engine cranked, staring at me. “Are you going to follow me?”
TWENTY-THREE
IVY
This was a terrible idea.
The cramped quarters, the quinoa and seaweed wraps; Jono, the homeless man Dakota invited over for dinner tonight.
All of it.
“This was a great idea! I’m so glad you’re all here with me tonight.” Dakota reaches out to squeeze my biceps with her left hand and Jono’s hand with her right, grinning at Sebastian, who sits across the small round salvaged teak table from her. Jono smiles in return, I think—it’s hard to tell because his face is covered by a beard that rivals Grizzly Adams’s. It’s a clean face, at least. Actually, he’s one of the cleanest homeless people I’ve ever come across. I wouldn’t have guessed that he had nowhere to live had he not enthusiastically announced it. Apparently he bathed at the public beach showers and changed into new clothes, donated by a friend today, all for this dinner. And he made a point of telling us about that, too.
“Sebastian, please, help yourself to more if you’re hungry. I’m sure your appetite is impressive.” Dakota throws a wink my way and I roll my eyes in return. She’s not the most subtle with her sexual innuendos.
He nods his thanks between mouthfuls of the hamburger I threw on the grill for us the second I saw what was on the menu tonight, seemingly protective of the left side of his mouth, where it’s slightly swollen. The fact that he stormed into the women’s restroom with a bloody lip, giving me that lame-ass excuse about running into a wall, has me a bit wary, but I figure it’s something I either don’t need to know about or don’t want to know about.
I’ll ask again later, maybe.
If I have a chance. He hasn’t said much of anything since we stepped inside the house, and I’m wondering if he regrets accepting this invitation. I wish I could read minds right now. Or at least his steely expression.
Jono doesn’t need encouragement, though, reaching over to take another helping.
“So, when did you two meet?” I ask casually.
“Just today,” he says, not bothering to wait until he’s done chewing to speak. “I was getting breakfast at the shelter when this vision strolled through with those squares.” He smiles at her. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s already madly lusting over her, as most guys do.
“Really. Just today.” I glare at her. This isn’t the first time I’ve sat at a dinner table with Dakota and one of her “friends,” people who, I swear, she seeks out based on their peculiarity. There was the séance lady, the worm collector, the puppeteer. And that’s just in the last two months. But never has she brought home a complete stranger.
As soon as I have a chance, I’m going to take Dakota by the arms and shake some sense into her. How much can she possibly know about this guy in ten hours? He could be a serial killer, and she invited him into her house! Is she planning on sleeping with him, too? With Dakota, you never know. And I don’t judge but . . . what the fuck, Dakota?