Joe’s face lit up right before he kissed me, almost making me forget about the rain. He was always making me forget things. He didn’t forget anything though. He grabbed my hand and pulled me outside. He kissed me again as the gentle rain seeped into our hair and clothes.

“Joe McAllister, I thought we were supposed to be playing in the rain.”

“I am playing.” He laughed before kissing me again, happiness radiating from him.

Just when I was about to suggest we go inside before Mildred got more of a show than she wanted, Joe whispered in my ear.

“One more thing. My name’s not Joe McAllister.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I didn’t want to go to work the next day, but I’d already taken two weeks off and couldn’t afford to take off any more days. I was out of vacation time. I had all of Dora’s money, but I hadn’t figured out what to do with it. So, for the moment, I pretended it didn’t exist.

I almost called in sick anyway. I looked like a domestic-violence victim with the bruises on my cheek and slightly swollen eye, making me wish I had gotten concealer when I bought my other makeup. It didn’t help that I was sleep-deprived. Between giving my statement to Hilary, who showed up around nine, and Joe keeping me up half the night, I was beyond tired.

But happy. For the first time, I felt like I actually had a life worth living.

I still hadn’t gotten my car back, so Joe drove me to work. I suspected he would hold off getting it as long as possible. He was trying to find a way to spend every minute he could with me before he went back to Little Rock in a few days. Neither one of us wanted to talk about it, but we also knew our relationship was too new to promise each other anything other than the vow to see each other as often as possible. It hung over our heads like a big cloud of loneliness.

At work, I settled into my desk and turned on the computer, making sure the drawers were stocked with forms, the printer full of paper. Suzanne sat down next to me a few minutes later and was surprisingly quiet. I expected her to mock my bruises or be hateful that I had just taken off another week, but she sat at her desk, subdued.

Just then, it occurred to me the DEA had never figured out who had the real flash drive.

I spent the morning trying to figure out how to get her to confess, like she'd tell me she had a flash drive wanted by law enforcement officials and crime lords. She wouldn't even tell me what she had for dinner the night before. But she seemed sad, so I tried being nice.

“Is everything okay?” I asked in a moment when neither of us had clients.

“What do you care?” she asked with a sneer, but I heard the tears in her voice.

“Look, Suzanne, I know we’ve had our differences, but I can see you’re upset and I just want you to know if you need someone to talk to, I’ll be happy to listen.”

“Why would you do that? I’ve been nothin’ but mean to you.”

“Because you look like you’re hurtin’.” I surprised myself when I realized it was true. I wasn’t just trying to get information from her.

Customers appeared at both of our counters and we were busy for another half an hour before we had a rare lapse close to noon.

Suzanne looked my direction, her eyes shimmering with tears. “My boyfriend left me last night. With my best friend. I never saw it comin’.” She bit her lip as her chin quivered.

I handed her a tissue. “I’m so sorry, Suzanne.”

“I thought he was different.” She blew her nose and looked at me, narrowing her eyes. “Honey, don’t let no man do that to you.” She pointed to my face. “They say they love you and they’re sorry, but they’re just mean, selfish sons of bitches. You can do a whole lot better than that.”

My mouth fell open in shock. If someone had told me two weeks ago that Suzanne would be nice to me, I would have suggested they try to sell me some snake oil, because I would have been far more likely to buy that. But I’d changed, and I realized sometimes people acted mean because they were hurting. Suzanne had obviously been hurting for a long time.

I thought about telling her I didn’t get my bruises from my boyfriend. The Weston Garage bust had been big news. Daniel Crocker had been locked up in the hospital while he recovered from dog bites and a gunshot wound to his leg. He would soon face multiple charges that included murdering Sloan and my Momma, but that hadn’t been released yet. Amazingly enough, my name had been kept out of it. But I had to wonder how Suzanne knew about my boyfriend. I hadn’t told anyone. The person with the flash drive would probably know a lot about me since I took the fall for him. Or her.

We got busier and I didn't have time to think about it. Two o’clock rolled around, when I usually took my lunch break. I’d brought my lunch since Joe would be tied up with official state police stuff. He was still waiting to hear what his punishment would be. Joe said he didn't care. Let them fire him, he said. But the look in his eyes told me it would hurt him a whole lot more than he’d admit.

I sat at the table in the tiny break room, looking at the bulletin board. One of the other employees had posted pictures of her teenage son from his high school graduation. Betty had posted pictures of her grandkids, right next to the invitation to her retirement party. She only had a few weeks left.

I pulled my turkey sandwich out of a brown paper bag, courtesy of Joe. He was appalled at the lack of food in my house and insisted on packing my lunch. When I pulled out an apple, a note fell out onto the table, written on the back of a short grocery store receipt.