already occupied by one of his agents, who moved only when my fiancé glared at him. I felt bad. But not bad enough to confess and face the music.
“Where did you fall?” Dutch asked as he carefully eased me into the chair and squatted down in front of me.
“At the office,” I said at the same time that Candice said, “At the coffee shop.”
Dutch’s chin lifted and he eyed us sharply.
Uh-oh.
“At the coffee shop by our office,” I said.
Dutch’s eyes narrowed. He could sniff out a lie almost as well as I could.
“How’d it happen?” he asked casually. Too casually.
My mind blanked, so I looked to Candice to answer. “She—”
“Let Abby answer, please,” Dutch commanded.
Candice’s gaze shifted meaningfully to my cane.
“It was my cane,” I told Dutch.
“Your cane?”
“Yeah. It…uh…I sort of tripped over it.”
“How’d that happen?” Dutch asked, standing tall again as his hands found his hips. He knew I was lying. I knew he knew I was lying, and by the looks of it, everyone around us knew I knew he knew I was lying.
I gulped. “There was a cat,” I said, “and it darted out from the alley and it bumped into my cane and I tripped over it.”
“You tripped over it?” Dutch asked skeptically. “Do you mean you tripped over the cat or the cane?”
“The cat.”
“What color was the cat?”
“Black.” Dutch’s narrowed eyes became downright squinty. “White. It was black-and-white. Also, maybe a little gray in there too, but it was hard to tell because it also had a few bald patches.” My motto is: When in doubt, just keep lying. Even if you’re
terrible
at it.
“Bald patches?” Dutch asked.
I gulped, wondering if I could divert him by asking for some water. “Yeah. It was obviously a stray and it probably had mange or something. Maybe one of the rats it ate gave it mange.”
Standing behind Dutch, Candice ducked her chin, covered her eyes, and shook her head. I could hardly blame her. Lying came easy for her. I think she majored in it in college.
Dutch had crossed his arms over his chest, his look darkening like a bad storm approaching. Around us several agents who’d been listening in suddenly found their computers
super
interesting.
“Is that Abigail Cooper?” I heard from the other end of the room.
I practically leaped to my feet (miraculously cured from the mangy-cat incident) and hobbled as fast as I could toward my savior. “Director Gaston!”
He held his arms out wide to me and I hugged him. “It’s so good to see you!” I gushed. Not only was I happy that he’d saved me from getting a tongue-lashing from Dutch, but I was also genuinely glad to see the man who’d looked out for me nearly from the moment we’d met.
Gaston backed up but held me at arm’s length, and looking me over critically he asked, “How’re you recovering?”
I kept my back to Dutch. “Oh, all right, I guess. It’s slow going, but I’m determined to walk down the aisle without the cane.”
Gaston smiled kindly. “I’m so glad. When’s the big day?”
“November fifteenth,” I said. “You’re coming, aren’t you, sir?”
Gaston’s brow rose. “Have you sent me an invitation?”
Crap on a cracker. I’d forgotten once again to send Cat the list of invitees. “They’re going out next week,” I promised, “and you’re definitely on the list.”
“Then consider me an early RSVP, Abigail. I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.”
“Hello, Director,” I heard Candice say from behind me.
Gaston focused on Candice next and they exchanged pleasantries. Brice came out of his office and said his hellos. He seemed upset. Shaken even. And I was able to pick that up only from the vibe coming off him, not anything he said or did. He caught me looking at him curiously. “What?” he mouthed while Candice and Gaston chatted.
“You tell me,” I whispered. “What’s happened?”
Brice’s forced smile vanished and he shook his head. “You’ll
“Where did you fall?” Dutch asked as he carefully eased me into the chair and squatted down in front of me.
“At the office,” I said at the same time that Candice said, “At the coffee shop.”
Dutch’s chin lifted and he eyed us sharply.
Uh-oh.
“At the coffee shop by our office,” I said.
Dutch’s eyes narrowed. He could sniff out a lie almost as well as I could.
“How’d it happen?” he asked casually. Too casually.
My mind blanked, so I looked to Candice to answer. “She—”
“Let Abby answer, please,” Dutch commanded.
Candice’s gaze shifted meaningfully to my cane.
“It was my cane,” I told Dutch.
“Your cane?”
“Yeah. It…uh…I sort of tripped over it.”
“How’d that happen?” Dutch asked, standing tall again as his hands found his hips. He knew I was lying. I knew he knew I was lying, and by the looks of it, everyone around us knew I knew he knew I was lying.
I gulped. “There was a cat,” I said, “and it darted out from the alley and it bumped into my cane and I tripped over it.”
“You tripped over it?” Dutch asked skeptically. “Do you mean you tripped over the cat or the cane?”
“The cat.”
“What color was the cat?”
“Black.” Dutch’s narrowed eyes became downright squinty. “White. It was black-and-white. Also, maybe a little gray in there too, but it was hard to tell because it also had a few bald patches.” My motto is: When in doubt, just keep lying. Even if you’re
terrible
at it.
“Bald patches?” Dutch asked.
I gulped, wondering if I could divert him by asking for some water. “Yeah. It was obviously a stray and it probably had mange or something. Maybe one of the rats it ate gave it mange.”
Standing behind Dutch, Candice ducked her chin, covered her eyes, and shook her head. I could hardly blame her. Lying came easy for her. I think she majored in it in college.
Dutch had crossed his arms over his chest, his look darkening like a bad storm approaching. Around us several agents who’d been listening in suddenly found their computers
super
interesting.
“Is that Abigail Cooper?” I heard from the other end of the room.
I practically leaped to my feet (miraculously cured from the mangy-cat incident) and hobbled as fast as I could toward my savior. “Director Gaston!”
He held his arms out wide to me and I hugged him. “It’s so good to see you!” I gushed. Not only was I happy that he’d saved me from getting a tongue-lashing from Dutch, but I was also genuinely glad to see the man who’d looked out for me nearly from the moment we’d met.
Gaston backed up but held me at arm’s length, and looking me over critically he asked, “How’re you recovering?”
I kept my back to Dutch. “Oh, all right, I guess. It’s slow going, but I’m determined to walk down the aisle without the cane.”
Gaston smiled kindly. “I’m so glad. When’s the big day?”
“November fifteenth,” I said. “You’re coming, aren’t you, sir?”
Gaston’s brow rose. “Have you sent me an invitation?”
Crap on a cracker. I’d forgotten once again to send Cat the list of invitees. “They’re going out next week,” I promised, “and you’re definitely on the list.”
“Then consider me an early RSVP, Abigail. I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.”
“Hello, Director,” I heard Candice say from behind me.
Gaston focused on Candice next and they exchanged pleasantries. Brice came out of his office and said his hellos. He seemed upset. Shaken even. And I was able to pick that up only from the vibe coming off him, not anything he said or did. He caught me looking at him curiously. “What?” he mouthed while Candice and Gaston chatted.
“You tell me,” I whispered. “What’s happened?”
Brice’s forced smile vanished and he shook his head. “You’ll
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