“You think she heard us?” Cam asked.
“I doubt it.” If Vero hadn’t heard our scuffle then Mrs. Haggerty certainly hadn’t. “Pretty sure her hearing is going. What’s the message?” I shivered as I gestured for him to get on with it. I hadn’t worn a jacket, and our meeting had left me more shaken than I cared to admit.
“Mr. Z wants to know why you haven’t handled EasyClean yet. In case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and believe me, I’m not the scariest person he could have sent to remind you.”
“I’m already acquainted with his goon squad, but thanks for the concern.”
“I was talking about his lawyer.” Cam shuddered. “That Rybakov chick is terrifying.”
A laugh escaped me despite my foul mood. Ekatarina Rybakov was indeed terrifying. And if I had to choose between Kat showing up on my front porch carrying a message with a wax seal or Cam’s clumsy attempt to deliver one with gravitas, the choice was easy.
I tore open Feliks’s envelope and held his letter under the security light.
Ms. Donovan,
My patience has limits. You have exactly two weeks.
—Z
“Great,” I muttered, mentally counting down the days to Feliks’s trial.
“We done? I told my grandma I’d swing by the pharmacy and pick up her meds before they close.”
“Yeah, we’re done. And, Cam,” I said as he turned to go, “next time, just ring the doorbell.”
He winced as a smile stretched his swollen lip. “Sure, Ms. Donovan. Sorry about the gravitas and all.”
I watched Cam limp across my lawn, his long legs disappearing into the hedge that separated my yard from my neighbor’s. On my way inside, I collected the broken glass and tossed it in the bin, waving toward Mrs. Haggerty’s house in case she was watching. Javi’s white panel van was parked in the street in front of my house, the same one he’d been driving the first time I met him, when he and Ramón had driven to West Virginia to help Vero and I break into a storage shed. Vero had been suspiciously tight-lipped about Javi since. All I knew was that he was Ramón’s best friend, he was good at picking locks, and he was the only person who could make Vero angry enough to blush.
When I opened the door to my kitchen, I found him sitting at my table, shoveling into a bowl of leftovers from the pot I’d left cooling on the stove.
“You want me to heat that up for you?” I offered.
He shook his head, his mouth too full to speak. His eyes rolled back, his face a mask of pure ecstasy. “Nah,” he managed between bites, “it’s perfect.”
“I wish I could take credit. Vero made it.”
“I know,” Javi said through a grin. “It’s her mother’s recipe. Recognized that smell the second I came in the door. I haven’t tasted Vero’s mom’s cooking in years.”
“Years?” I asked, grabbing him a soda from the fridge and setting it in front of him. “Why so long?” Vero’s and Ramón’s mothers shared an apartment in Maryland. It wasn’t far. And from the photos I’d seen in Vero’s scrapbook, Javi, Vero, and Ramón had been inseparable growing up.
Javi shrugged. “Vero’s mom doesn’t like me much. It’s easier for Ramón if I don’t tag along.” A long lock of his hair fell over one eye as he hunched over his bowl. Vero appeared beside him and snatched it out from under him, sending a splash of broth over the rim and soaking the front of his shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
He held stubbornly to his spoon as he reached for a napkin. “I was eating.”
“Does this look like a drive-through to you? You can’t just roll up in here ’cause a light’s on in my window and expect to be served.”
Javi blotted his chest. He stood up slowly as he crumpled his napkin, his damp T-shirt clinging to his skin. “Too bad. It tasted every bit as good as I remembered.” His dark eyes roved over her upturned face, lingering on her mouth. “I was tempted to ask for more.” His grin was roguish as he licked his spoon.
“Give me that,” she said, yanking it away from him, “and get your scrubby ass out of my kitchen.”
“You’ve called my ass a lot of things, Veronica, but scrubby wasn’t one of them.”
She pointed to the door and began shouting at him in Spanish.
“Vero!” I hollered over her, lowering my voice when I remembered the children were sleeping. “I invited Javi in after he gallantly came to my rescue. The least we can do is let him finish his meal.”
She tore her eyes from him. “What rescue? What happened?” she asked me.
“I was getting out of my van when I heard the crash,” Javi said, taking his spoon from her. “Saw the busted glass on the ground and figured something was up, but by the time I got to the backyard, Finlay had the situation under control.”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “It was just Cam, but it was heroic of Javi to step in.” Vero’s mouth parted around a question. I gave a tight shake of my head. Neither one of us would be foolish enough to discuss the details of Cam’s message in front of Javi. I directed a pointed look at the bowl she was holding hostage.
She shoved it toward Javi with a huff. “Doesn’t explain what you were doing here in the first place.”
“Just doing your cousin a favor.” He jutted his chin toward a thick stack of junk mail on the table, mostly clothing catalogs and coupon circulars by the looks of it. “Ramón wanted to bring your mail himself, but he was afraid someone might follow him here. He said some people have been to his apartment looking for you. What’s that all about?”
“Nothing,” Vero said defensively. “Just some girls from my old sorority. They think I have something that belongs to them. I told them I don’t, but they won’t let it go. It’s not a big deal.”
“Your cousin seems to think it is.”
“My cousin worries too much.”
“Maybe I do, too.”
“Really?” she snapped. “Because I don’t remember you being there to help me pack when I dropped out of school and moved out.” I stood silently in the corner, watching Vero’s jaw clench. She picked up the pile of mail without looking at it and tossed it in the trash. “I don’t see anything here worth saving. You shouldn’t have wasted your time.”
Javi rose from the table and put his empty bowl in the sink. His T-shirt rode up as he slipped his jacket over his shoulders. Vero stole a glance at him, her cheeks flushing in response.
“You’re probably right. Thanks for the meal anyway. See you around,” he said as he showed himself out.
I caught a flash of regret on her face as the door closed behind him. She threw up her hands, muttering to herself as she turned to the sink and washed his bowl. When she was done, she tossed the sponge in the basin.
“So,” I said, reaching into the pantry for a bottle of wine, “how long have you been in love with Javi?”
“I am not in love with him.”
I poured two glasses and slid one over the counter toward her. “Methinks thou doth protest too much.”