The Best Friend Zone

If we were anywhere else but the drive thru, waiting on our breakfast order before goat duty, I’d find a way to take her right here in this truck.

My stomach growls, pulling my thoughts to food and coffee, when Tory grabs my arm.

“Quinn—that’s the truck! See it there? The red Chevy.”

Every part of my body snaps to attention.

A red truck as bright as a fire engine turns onto Main Street, heading for the highway.

And we’re boxed in, waiting for a good-sized order because I let my gut do the talking.

Fuck.

There’s a car ahead of us and one behind us, besides the building on my side and the tall concrete barrier on hers. My teeth clench.

There’s no way for me to make a clean exit to give chase.

Not the worst thing, honestly.

Going after a potentially dangerous piece of scum with Tory along isn’t smart. It’s not safe, either, meaning I couldn’t go flying with that vehicle even if I had a clean shot.

“Keep an eye on it,” I tell her, even as I watch the Chevy turn and start barreling down the highway. It’s going north at a fast clip, the same direction we’ll be heading soon.

The car ahead of me grinds forward, but then stops.

The people in the car search their bags for a fucking century, obviously making sure they got the right food.

A muscle in my eyeball twitches.

Then it’s our turn to race up.

“Here’s your order!” The smiley teenager in the window hands me an OJ and a steaming coffee.

“Sorry, we’re in a hurry,” I mutter, getting grabby real fast.

I barely avoid spilling as I mash the drinks in the truck’s holders, yank the bag from her hand, hold my breath while she swipes my card, and floor it, almost ramming the car ahead of us.

They finally pull forward a few more feet—giving me a well-deserved dirty look in the mirror—and I swerve around them.

“Quinn, whoa.”

“Sorry I’m driving like an asshole. We need a read on that truck—can you still see it?” I ask, jerking my head from side to side, searching.

“It just pulled onto the highway…I lost sight of it then.” Tory sets the bag on the floor by her feet. “Maybe they do work for Neuman’s Dairy.”

No. I checked that out right after it happened. No one at Neuman’s ever had anybody on payroll fitting that man’s description with a red Chevy truck.

I take the highway turn sharply, laying my foot on the gas.

Behind me, I hear Owl’s breathing sharpen. His big tongue flops out like he’s enjoying the action.

With Tory in the truck, I won’t overtake the guy or do anything stupid, but I do need to know where he’s going.

Even though we slept in a little, it’s still early, barely eight in the morning.

He could be a local, even if he’s not a Neuman’s employee. An extra summer field hand going to work for some farmer or something.

My gut disagrees, though, rumbling with this dark hint that tells me he’s here for one reason.

He wants you dead, I think to myself. He wants to help Bat Pickett put you down like a mad dog.

Holding our speed steady, I stay far enough behind the guy to keep an eye on him. We’re several lengths back, a comfortable distance to avoid raising his suspicion.

“Is there anything down that road except for the lake?” Tory asks just as the red truck turns off the highway.

“Not that I know of,” I answer. “It’s close to Drake and Bella’s property, the spare acreage they barely use, way the hell out. Except when Edison does his Houdini escape thing, I mean. I think there’s a couple other big old farms down that way.”

She nods, then gives me a surprised look. “Hey, aren’t we going to follow him?”

“Not today,” I bite off.

“Why not?” She rubs a hand at her eyes, casting a dirty look. “Quinn, he had to slow down on that service road. You could catch him real easy.”

Acting nonchalant, I stiffen in my seat. “We don’t know who or what the fuck he is. He could just work out here somewhere.”

I can feel her confusion and taste my own sour lie, trying to quell her worries.

Still, I keep staring at the road straight ahead as we roll past the gravel road the Chevy turned down.

Once we get to the dairy, I’ll call Drake.

With his place being close to the lake and being Sheriff Wallace’s right-hand man, he’ll know what, if anything, is down that road.

He’ll also know how best to get a better look if warranted.

“Do you want your breakfast?” she asks.

Owl belts out an enthusiastic woof!

Trying to keep things as normal as possible, I smile in agreement.

“Sure, we might as well eat before we see the goats,” I say.

She passes out the food to me and Owl, who’s anxiously waiting with his head stuck between the seats. I devour my breakfast burritos, deep in thought.