“Bag.” He held out his hand. “N
ow.”
She opened and closed her mouth, then handed the bag over. “I was...”
He looked at her, waiting. “Go on.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“Nothing?” He peered into the bag, whistling softly. “How much is all this worth?”
“Hunter—”
He looked at her, not bothering to conceal his anger as he pushed the door closed behind him. “Yes?”
She glanced nervously at the closed door. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you restock these shelves,” he said. “Best if no one sees you doing it.” He held the bag out to her.
“You’re not turning me in?” she asked.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he pointed at her bag, then the shelves.
“Sometimes you still surprise me, Hunter Boone.” She smiled her charming smile before pulling a bottle out of her bag. She placed it on the shelf, then glanced back at him. “Guess it’s hard to send me off to jail on Christmas Eve. Not the best present for Eli.”
He wanted her gone.
“I was talking to Winnie about parenting. She thinks you’re the best dad around.” She kept stacking. “I told her you were definitely the hottest.”
He wanted her to stop talking.
“Did you know she has the hots for you?” Amy asked.
He didn’t bother responding. Today had become one of the longest days of his life. When he saw his key ring, the one he kept in his office drawer, clipped to her belt loop, he lost it.
“You done?”
She nodded.
“Bag.” He held his hand out.
She frowned. “I put it all back.”
He reached forward and took the bag from her. He dumped five more bottles of pills and several vials of injectable steroids onto the metal counter. “Enough.”
His tone must have reached her, because she froze.
“I’ve spent the last ten years raising Eli to believe the best in you.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing attention to her chest. “I’m not a bad person.”
He looked at her, then the medicine. “I’d like to think there’s good in everyone, Amy. The last few years, it’s been harder to find good in you. I don’t want you around our son anymore.”
“I have every right—” she protested.
“You have a right to one weekend a month and alternating holidays.” He held his hand up. “But this—” he pointed at the medicine “—would take that away.”
She glanced at the medicine, then at him. “You’re blackmailing me?”