Troublemaker

CHAPTER 6

MORGAN WOKE AND DIDN’T IMMEDIATELY KNOW WHERE he was; he lay very still, instinctively reaching out with his senses to locate any danger, anything wrong. Then the particular scent of his surroundings registered, and everything clicked into place.

He was at Isabeau Maran’s place. The scent was great, a mixture of wood from the barn structure, the leather of the sofa he lay on, some sort of perfumey stuff in a bowl… what was it… yeah, potpourri. Silly-ass name. But most of all he could smell her. This was her place, and the scent of her was everywhere. He’d gotten up close and personal with that scent when she’d helped him into the house… barn… whatever it was. He’d been so exhausted yesterday that now he’d be hard put to physically describe her, other than attractive, skinny, with long dark hair, but she smelled great-not because she smelled like a woman, which he guessed she did, but because she smelled nothing like disinfectant.

If he never smelled that particular hospital scent again, he’d be deeply grateful. The whole past month was tied up in a nightmare ball of pain, drugs, uncertainty, fear, anger, a disconnect from reality, and he didn’t want to be reminded of it in any way.

He blew out a breath. He needed to take a piss, and the hell of it was he had to assess the situation. He hated it, hated every second of feeling this weak, but it was his new reality. He could make the trip on his own, or he could call her. She’d already had to help him to the bathroom twice; everything in him rebelled at the idea of asking her for help again. It wasn’t as if she were a warm and fuzzy person who made offering aid seem like nothing, the way his nurses had. She seemed to like her dog much better than she did people, which, okay, given that she’d dealt with Mac at any early age wasn’t so unreasonable. He still needed to piss. For a few minutes he lay there dreading the effort it would take to accomplish that simple task, but damned if he was going to call her for help. Even if he had to crawl, he’d get to the bathroom under his own steam.

The house wasn’t dark. The TV was still on, though the sound was turned off because the noise had annoyed the hell out of him. A lot of things annoyed the hell out of him now because nothing was normal. He eased to a sitting position, relieved that the ache in his chest was nothing more than that. Pneumonia had been a bitch; the coughing had nearly killed him figuratively, while the pneumonia had almost done the job literally. He sat for a minute to make sure he wasn’t dizzy, then braced his right hand on the arm of the sofa and levered himself up.

Okay. Not too bad. He was a little light-headed, but as he stood there the sensation faded.

His steps as he crossed the open space were slow. He couldn’t do his normal confident stride; the best he could do was kind of shuffle his feet along. His body had always been a powerful machine that did his bidding, and now he didn’t recognize himself in this weak, aching shell. Maybe the worst part of this whole shitty situation was the uncertainty that he’d ever get back physically to what he had been before being shot.

He took the time to look around, noticing details that he hadn’t before. There was a keypad beside the door, and a red dot glowing on that told him she had a security system, and at some point had activated it. Guess it was a good thing he didn’t need to go out to the Tahoe to retrieve anything.

The barn was uncluttered, except for the dog’s toys strewn around. There was furniture-the living room area, the kitchen area, the dining area, and what looked like a small office space-in the whole open space that was the downstairs, but the furniture was only what was needed. The whole vibe was kind of barn mixed with industrial, which was weird for a woman. He didn’t know shit about decorating, but he knew women and how they liked to surround themselves with stuff. Isabeau Maran evidently either didn’t have a lot of stuff, or didn’t like stuff.

He was relieved that, however slow he might be, he made it to the bathroom without any real problem. At least he could walk it under his own steam. Driving all day had knocked him flat for a while, which was humiliating in and of itself. Before being shot, he could and had swum and/or run for miles, but now just sitting upright for a few hours had done him in. That last hour of driving had been accomplished by sheer determination, and he’d made it by the skin of his teeth. By the time he’d parked in the driveway in front of the barn, he’d been glad no one was there because the best he could do right then was lay his head back and take a nap. He’d been there about forty-five minutes before his hostess arrived.

Mac had neglected to mention that his ex-stepsister was a crazy dog lady, which Morgan supposed was better than a crazy cat lady. At least there was just one dog, and dogs were easier to corral than cats. He liked animals in general, just not right now. He didn’t have the energy to play, pet, or fend off an overly friendly retriever. Ms. Maran had made it plain where the dog was in the pecking order, and that was above him.

Okay, he got that. His presence was an unpleasant surprise. He was a stranger, and an imposition. He was as uncomfortable in this situation as she was.

They’d get through it though; he because he didn’t have any choice in the matter right now, and she because she needed the money. Despite the fact that she was being paid well to house him, he was grateful she’d accepted. From what he’d overheard when she was talking to Mac, she’d been on the verge of refusing even after the money had been offered. She’d been adamant that no one here be endangered by his presence. Morgan was fairly certain no one would be, but he couldn’t swear to it. Even the best of plans tended to get hiccups, or fall apart entirely when something unforeseen fucked up everything. He’d keep that to himself, though, or he’d likely find himself on the road in the morning, with nowhere to go and unable to get there under his own steam anyway.

He made it back to the sofa, stared without interest at the silent TV for a while, then got the remote and clicked the off button. The room went dark, a dark he found soothing. A hospital room-even one that was makeshift-was never dark. Once he had regained consciousness, the constant light, even a dim one, had become so annoying he’d have shut off every machine, smashed every light, and sealed the door… if he’d been able. He hadn’t been, but now he could certainly turn off the damn TV. He knew that once his eyes adjusted, he wouldn’t be in complete darkness; clocks on the microwave and the oven in the kitchen would be pinpoints of light, but normal pinpoints, not on machines that were hooked up to him. It hadn’t been only the light that had bothered him; the unceasing noise had too, the sounds of the machines running, conversations outside his room, people walking.

He drew a deep, cautious breath-everything in his chest still protested the expansion of muscles and rib cage-and felt something in him relax at the silence, the darkness.

Bo didn’t sleep well because she knew there was a stranger in the house. Sharing space wasn’t something she liked or was accustomed to. Her bedroom door was closed, and Tricks was accustomed to having the run of the house so she was restless. Tricks got up on the bed, she got down on the rug beside the bed, she went to the door, she nosed around the bedroom. Finally Bo sat up and said, “Get up here and go to sleep.” Tricks made the throat noises she did when she was arguing, but she jumped up on the bed and finally settled down. Bo thumped her pillow and tried to settle down herself.

She did finally go to sleep, but woke up annoyed-with herself, with Axel, with the man downstairs for getting shot in the first place. If he’d been more careful, he wouldn’t be in this shape. On the other hand, neither would she be making a hundred and fifty thousand-!!!-for taking care of him, so from that point of view, she was grateful he’d been careless.

As she threw back the covers, Tricks jumped up as bright eyed as ever, ready for her first trip outside. She dashed to the door and stood there with her tail wagging, looking expectantly from Bo to the doorknob, as if trying to show her how to open the door.

Normally Bo didn’t bother getting dressed, but now she did. She hit the bathroom herself, stopped to drag a brush through her hair and drink a glass of water. By the time she was dressed, Tricks was going back and forth between her and the door, letting her know this delay was unacceptable. Bo forcibly shoved her annoyance away. This was the way things would be for a while, she’d agreed to it, so she’d damn well be an adult about the situation. She wouldn’t blame Morgan Yancy for being careless; instead she would do her level best to take care of him and actually earn the money Axel was paying her.

She thought of his gray, exhausted face, and her conscience twinged. She’d let her massive dislike for Axel color her interactions with a man who was barely hanging on.

With that in mind, she’d have clipped a leash to Tricks’s collar if she’d had it with her, but the leash was downstairs. All she could do was do her best to keep Tricks from bounding up in his lap and generally making a nuisance of herself. Bracing for whatever Tricks might do, she opened the bedroom door and said, “Let’s go outside.”

No matter what, watching Tricks greet the morning always made Bo smile. Tricks never just walked. She pranced, she danced, she all but skipped. She was overjoyed with the prospect of going outside, of having her breakfast, at life in general. Bo also suspected Tricks got up every morning plotting a world takeover, because she never stopped trying to arrange everything to her liking.

The broad, industrial-type stairs were open to the floor level, and she could see that Morgan was still stretched out on the sofa, though the blanket that had covered him was now on the floor. Poor guy, as tall as he was, the sofa couldn’t be all that comfortable. Until he could make it up the stairs under his own power, though, the options were limited.

Tricks immediately started for him, of course, and Bo said again, “Let’s go outside,” and grabbed the tennis ball from the floor. Immediately distracted, Tricks began bouncing in anticipation. Bo detoured through the kitchen to hit the magic button on the K-cup coffeemaker and slide a cup into place, grateful that the cup would be full when she returned. After disarming the alarm, she opened the door, and Tricks shot through the opening.

The ground was white but it hadn’t been a heavy snowfall, probably no more than an inch. That was good because the sun was trying to break through the low gray clouds and the snow should melt quickly. For now, the day was cold but not icy. All in all, not bad. The year before, they’d been hit with a big snow in the middle of April, and that had been such a downer because it had seemed as if winter would never let go.

She had to throw the tennis ball for Tricks a few times before the dog settled down to do her business. Then Tricks ran around sniffing things, as if checking whether or not any strange creatures had invaded her territory during the night. She found a stick and romped in the snow with it, twisting and jumping and prancing. Finally Bo called her in with “Ready for breakfast?” Tricks was always ready for breakfast, or any other meal; she immediately came trotting over, a look of canine glee sparkling in her eyes. Bo retrieved the tennis ball from the yard-who, exactly, was the retriever here, and who was boss? She didn’t care. She and Tricks had their routine, and they were both happy with it.

As they entered the door, she smelled the delicious scent of coffee at the same time she noticed Morgan was now awake and sitting up. He looked marginally better than he had yesterday, despite the growth of beard darkening his jaw. At least he didn’t look as if he were about to die.

His gaze was blank and guarded as he looked up at her. Considering how welcoming-not!-she’d been the day before, Bo didn’t blame him. She hung her jacket on the hook beside the door and asked, “Are you a coffee drinker, or would you like something else?”

Relief flashed across his face and was gone before she was certain she’d read him correctly. “Coffee,” he said immediately.

“Cream or sugar?”

“No, just black.”

She really, really wanted that first cup of coffee, but she thought he probably wanted it more. She did take the time to slide another K-cup into the machine and another mug under the dispenser, and press the button before taking the steaming hot coffee to him. His blue eyes focused on the cup as if she were bringing him ambrosia. “Thanks,” he said, reaching out with both hands. He had big, rough-looking hands, scarred in places, bruised from needles and thin from the ordeal he’d been through, but she knew for a fact how strong they still were because she’d felt one clamped around her throat.

She watched his eyes close briefly as he took that first sip-she knew how that felt-and asked, “Didn’t they let you have coffee in the hospital?”

“Once I could eat, yeah, but this is the first cup today. I was afraid I’d have to settle for skim milk.” His voice was still thin and kind of scratchy, his eyes swollen from sleep, but she got a sense of increased energy from him. Not a lot, but anything was an improvement.

“I’ll pick you up some he-man milk today. My pantry is empty even for me,” she admitted. “I haven’t had time to do much food shopping lately.” Between her chief-of-police duties and the technical-writing projects, she’d been hustling, which was good for her bottom line but hell on her schedule. Going back into the kitchen, she got her own coffee and took a few blissful sips before setting it aside to dip some dog food into Tricks’s bowl, and put out fresh water for her. Tricks rushed over; she never had to be enticed to eat first thing in the morning; that routine was only for dinner, when she wasn’t as hungry.

Feeding the dog was easy; feeding the man was a problem.

“I’m at a loss for breakfast,” she confessed. “I have the aforementioned skim milk and cereal-Grape-Nuts, if you’re interested.” She knew she wasn’t. In her mind, cereal was for when there was nothing else in the house. “I also have instant oatmeal, and I can throw in some raisins to make it more hearty. Other than that, we’re back to the PB &J, or another smoothie. Or-” Thinking of something, she quickly opened the refrigerator door and checked the contents. Yes, she had cheese. “-a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“I’m fine with just coffee,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

“We went through this yesterday. You have to eat.”

“Sandwich,” he said grudgingly. “Peanut butter.”

“I’m sorry for the pitiful selection, but like I said, I haven’t been shopping.” She felt chagrined by her lack of options, even though she hadn’t had any warning. “What would you like while I’m shopping? Eggs, sausage, pancakes?” She pulled a notepad toward her and began scribbling down a list. Eggs, breakfast ham, salsa, fresh fruit, whole milk-

“Yes,” he said, evidently to everything.

The enormity of feeding him dawned on her. It wasn’t just breakfast; it was three meals a day, every day, for an unspecified length of time. Her scribbling got faster. Steaks, though maybe he wasn’t up to that yet. She could put them in the freezer until he was. Salad fixings. Hamburgers, potatoes, frozen hash browns.

This was going to cost a fortune. Good thing Axel was paying her well.

Food wasn’t the only problem. She couldn’t hide him away out here for any length of time. For one thing, her grocery bill would give her away, and Hamrickville was small enough that things like that got noticed. For another, she didn’t intend to hide him. That was a scandal waiting to happen. She’d tell Jesse that Morgan was out here, and the basic truth that he’d had open-heart surgery and needed a place to recover.

She couldn’t tell Morgan’s real name, though, given that he was in hiding and Internet searches were like taking out an electronic billboard.

She thought about that as she slapped peanut butter and jelly between two slices of bread-he got a whole sandwich this time-and when she took the sandwich to him, she said, “What name will you be using?”

Evidently he and Axel had already covered that base because he said, “I have a second ID that’ll past muster in case anyone checks.”

“Oh, it’ll be checked. As soon as my chief deputy finds out you’re here, he’ll be all over it.”

He showed no surprise at her having a chief deputy, which told her that he already knew her circumstances here, and the setup she had with Hamrickville. She cocked her head, eyeing him. If he so readily had a fake ID, how did she know he’d shown her his real one? On the other hand, did it really matter?

“Yes, I told you my real name,” he said tersely, correctly reading her expression.

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if you did or not, because I wouldn’t know either way. I don’t know you. All I know is that Axel sent you, you’re in sorry shape and obviously need help, and a big payment is supposed to be deposited in my bank account today. You can call yourself Lady Gaga, for all I care.”

“I’ll stick with Morgan,” he said drily. “My second ID is for Morgan Rees, R-E-E-S.” He didn’t pronounce it Reece, but rather the way it was spelled. “Middle name Allen.”

“Is Allen your real middle name?”

“No.”

“Okay. Morgan Rees. I got it. And if Jesse asks, I don’t know your middle name, because it isn’t as if we hooked up in the past or anything.”

“Jesse is your chief deputy?”

“He is. Jesse Tucker. You’ll be meeting him, probably some time this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Because when I tell him you’re here, he’ll have to check you out himself.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” The blue eyes narrowed, his gaze drilling into her and the intensity in his gaze taking her aback.

“Lord, no!” she said, startled. What had made him ask that, unless he was weighing the possible complications of jealousy and prolonged contact? She supposed that was reason enough, given his circumstances.

“But he’ll come out here to check for himself whether or not I’m on the level?”

“He’s a good cop. He’s also a friend, though not romantically.” And Jesse was somewhat protective of her, not because of any romantic feeling but because he was afraid being chief of police would make her a target for people who didn’t know the position was administrative and wanted to show up the “lady chief.” She lived alone in an isolated area, something she still sometimes felt uneasy about, so she was grateful for the attention he paid to her welfare.

Come to think of it-Jesse always checked in when he left for the night, and last night he hadn’t. The omission was so unusual Bo swiftly got her cell phone and called Jesse’s cell, her brow knit with worry.

Jesse answered on the second ring. “Mornin’, Chief.”

She blew out a breath of relief. “I was worried. You didn’t check in last night, and I just realized it.”

“Ah…” Jesse fell silent, as if he couldn’t think what to say. Bo could practically feel his embarrassment.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Hurt? No! No, it isn’t anything like that.”

Now it was her turn to say, “Ah.” Jesse was crazy about one of the stylists, Kalie Vaughan, at Daina’s salon. Lately Kalie had been saying yes when he asked her out, and she suspected Jesse’s forgetting to check in had something to do with Kalie-either a fight, or not a fight. She smiled, because she strongly suspected the situation was not a fight. She said, “Okay. Tell Kalie good morning for me.”

Startled, Jesse yelped, “How did you-” and she laughed and pumped a fist in the air in victory at guessing right. Not only that, she and the rest of the town had been rooting for them; they were both very well liked, and just fit together, as if they’d been made for each other and were only now realizing it.

“Okay, you got me,” he said sheepishly.

“Yes, I did.” She didn’t try to keep the smugness out of her tone. “I’ll be in around noon unless you need me before then.”

She clicked off the call and found Morgan watching her as intently as ever, his gaze so sharp and focused that it made a chill race up her spine as she saw again what a dangerous man he was when he wasn’t recovering from being shot. No, he was still dangerous, and she’d felt his hand around her throat as evidence of that. He was a wounded predator, but a predator still.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his muscles tense as if preparing to swing into action, though what he thought he could do considering how weak he was-

He’d do whatever was necessary. She knew it without question, though she had precious little to go on other than the direct fierceness of his gaze, and his explosive reaction when he was startled out of sleep.

“Nothing,” she said, then when his gaze flashed she amended, “Nothing of an official nature, anyway. Jesse has been seeing someone we all really like and she’s why he forgot his check-in call last night.”

He relaxed against the back of the sofa to finish his sandwich. Bo picked up his empty cup and indicated it. “Want another?”

“Please.”

Bo went back to the coffeemaker and did the routine, grabbing some more of her own coffee and looking around for Tricks while the cup filled. Tricks was in the corner nosing through her toy box, though most of the stuffed animals were on the floor in front of the sofa. She found a dirty chewed-up old bone; it was covered with hair from where she’d wallowed on it, and some of her fur had gotten stuck on the rough places. All in all, it was a disgusting sight, but not to Tricks; carrying it proudly, she pranced over to the newcomer, where she laid it on the sofa beside his leg, then backed up a few steps and watched him with bright eyes, obviously waiting for something. Her plumy tail wagged gently back and forth, as if encouraging him.

“What does she want?” he asked, raising his voice a little.

“For you to either throw it, praise her for having such an excellent selection of toys, or play tug of war. Or, if she really likes you, she brought it to you for you to chew on. She’s generous that way.”

He made a rough, kind of gasping sound that could have been almost a laugh, but she wasn’t certain. “Do I get to pick?”

She took pity on him; she delivered the fresh cup of coffee and grabbed the bone from beside his leg before Tricks could snatch it up to prevent her from getting it. “Never show weakness,” she advised. “If you do, you’re beyond human aid.”

He snorted. “She’s a retriever, not a tiger.”

“She’s a force of nature, and don’t forget it.” Bo’s tone held humor, but she was also serious. She was the only known human whom Tricks acknowledged in any way as being in charge-not that she wasn’t fond of other people, because Tricks loved people in general, but she tended to think they existed to pet her, praise her, and give her anything she wanted. Bo worked hard to keep Tricks from being a pest-unless she was pissed off at the person in question, in which case she let Tricks be as much of a pest as she wanted, which could be awesome.

To prove she could be single-minded, Tricks began trying to butt the bone out of Bo’s hand. “You can have it,” Bo said, relinquishing the bone, “but you have to go lie down to chew it. Go on, go lie down.”

Tricks turned her head away, as if she couldn’t believe she was hearing such nonsense.

“Go lie down,” Bo repeated. Tricks went back to the sofa and hit Morgan on the knee with it. Bo said, “No,” and took the bone away from her. Without another word she put the bone back in the toy chest, and closed the lid.

The dog actually made a huffing sound. Bo ignored her and focused on Morgan. “When you finish that cup of coffee, do you want to try for a shower? If you don’t feel like standing up, I can get a plastic chair and put it in the tub.”

“I can stand up,” he said, his tone gruff.

“Great. Do you want me to get anything out of the duffle for you? A change of clothes, bandages?” She was fairly certain bandages should be involved.

“Just a change of clothes.”

“No bandages?” she pressed.

“The surgery was a month ago. All of that has healed.”

“Uh huh. What about any incisions for tubes, things like that?” She didn’t bother keeping the suspicion out of her tone.

“Healed enough,” he said flatly. “I’m through with that.”

She could scarcely hold him down and bandage him against his will, especially since she didn’t know exactly where he might need a bandage, so she shrugged one shoulder. “It’s your call. Anything in particular you want to wear? Sweatpants, anything like that?”

His face was impassive. “A change of underwear, socks, shaving kit. The rest doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t like the idea of her going through his duffle; she knew that because she wouldn’t like it either if she were in his position.

“If you’d rather I not prowl through your things, just say so.”

“I would have. I don’t care.” His tone was flat.

“Good enough.”

“There’s a weapon in there, though.”

“I’m not surprised. Are you licensed?” Even if he wasn’t, this was another of those instances, such as not booking Daina for public intoxication, where she’d use her own judgment rather than strictly follow the law.

“I am in Virginia.”

That, too, was good enough. Virginia and West Virginia had reciprocity laws regarding concealed carry permits. Then she had another thought. “Under which name?”

There was still no expression on his face. “Both.”

Man, she would sure like to know what organization he was with. Government for certain, but which of the myriad alphabet agencies? But going on the theory that in this case ignorance might be the best policy, she didn’t ask. He was covered in case Jesse did some investigating, and that was the important thing.

She pulled the duffle around so he could see what she was doing, then crouched beside it and unzipped it. Finding his shaving kit was easy, because it was on top. She set it aside. Under the shaving kit was a pistol case for a Glock 41, Gen4. It was heavy and in the way, so she pulled it out and set it aside too; likewise with the three boxes of ammo. “You think three is enough?” she asked, wondering exactly what he was worried about in Hamrickville.

“If I didn’t, I’d have more.”

His socks and underwear were neatly rolled. Socks, tee shirt, and boxer briefs were set aside. A quick feel through the duffle unearthed one pair of sweatpants, which she selected on the theory he’d be more comfortable in them than in either jeans or tactical pants, which constituted the rest of his pant selection. He had tee shirts, a few flannel shirts, and one faded red sweatshirt. He wouldn’t need anything that heavy unless he was going outside, something she didn’t think he’d be doing today. “Will this do?” she asked, indicating his selections. “Do you have any other shoes? Sneakers, maybe?”

“I think there’s a pair of sneakers in one of the side pockets.”

“Do you want them?”

“Yeah. Socks on a hardwood floor can be tricky.”

That was the truth. She noted the size of his sneakers-eleven and a half-and made a mental note to pick him up some socks with no-slip strips on the bottoms. He might sneer at them, but they’d be here if needed. And if he never wore them, she wouldn’t be out anything more than a couple of bucks.

She took the selections into the bathroom and got a couple of towels and a washcloth from the linen closet, laying those out for him too. There was shower gel in the shower, a non-slip pad in the bottom of the tub, and a rubber-backed bath mat for him to step onto. There was also a towel rack he could use to balance himself while stepping in and out of the tub, though she hoped he didn’t put a lot of weight on it or he and the rack would both go down.

By the time she was finished delivering and checking, he’d made his slow way to the bathroom. He moved carefully and he had his left arm kind of braced over his chest, but he’d made it and didn’t look as if he’d die any moment.

“Just yell if you’re too worn out to make it back to the sofa.” She kept her tone brisk and matter-of-fact. “I’ll be eating my oatmeal.”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he said, and she figured he’d rather punch himself in the face than ask for help again.

She sat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter, eating her nuked oatmeal and sliced banana, but mostly sucking in another cup of coffee and listening to the sound of the shower. After a while the shower cut off, then another running water sound took its place; he was standing at the lavatory, shaving.

Bo had finished, rinsed her bowl and spoon and put them in the dishwasher, and was thinking about a third cup of coffee when he left the bathroom. Steam and dampness spilled out of the open door, though he’d had the ventilation fan running. His dark hair was wet and looked as if he’d combed it by running his fingers through it, but he was freshly shaved, and his expression drawn as if the exertion had sapped him. Both sweatpants and tee shirt hung on him. He slowly made his way back to the sofa and eased down.

“Do you want another cup of coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you. Two was plenty.”

Two was probably the limit of what he needed to drink, too, considering what an effort it was to get to the bathroom and back. That didn’t need saying, though. She collected his cup and dealt with it, then said, “All right, I need to get moving. I’m going to town to stock up on groceries, then I have to be back in town by noon. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

He glanced up at her and the same thought shimmered between them: He had to be. He didn’t have a choice. “I’ll be fine.” Then he glanced at Tricks, who was being good and playing with her stuffed animals. “What about Princess?”

Bo’s mouth curved with amusement as she realized she’d never told him Tricks’s name. “Her name is Tricks. T-R-I-C-K-S.”

“I thought it was Princess. That’s what you called her yesterday.”

“Princess is her title, but her name is Tricks. Besides, I call her a lot of things. For the first year of her life she thought her name was No No You Little Shit.”

His eyes lit, and something remarkable happened. Mr. Stoic tilted back his head and laughed.