Chapter 10
After a restless night in which I do everything in my power not to drift over to Grayson’s side of the bed—which means I barely get any sleep—I drag myself out of bed way too early and head to the diner for breakfast, where I finally get my first real stroke of luck.
Through the front window, I see Reg sitting at a table. Alone. And, even better, he’s in a corner booth, with his back against the far wall. That means if I confront him and things get dicey, he’ll have to go through me to escape.
Not that I’m feeling on top of my game at the moment. I really, really wish I’d been able to get some good sleep last night.
But I don’t have the luxury of waiting for a better time. Squaring my shoulders, I march through the door. Reg glances my way as the bell above the door announces my arrival, and I note the hope on his face fading away as he sees it’s not who he was hoping for.
It’s not the first time a man has been disappointed that I wasn’t someone else, and I’m here in a professional capacity, potentially interrogating a highly dangerous suspect, and so I shouldn’t feel a slight pang that it’s not me he’s waiting for.
And of course I don’t care if Reg wishes I were a different person.
It’s just everyone wishes I was a different person. There’s no one sitting around looking hopeful that I’m the person about to enter the room.
Jensen, seriously. You have to focus.
Right. Reg has already turned his attention back to his breakfast, though he looks up when I approach his table, a vaguely polite smile crossing his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t remember your name. I only know you as the sad divorcée.”
“I’m not divorced,” I say before I can stop myself. I drop into the seat across from him. “But you don’t need to worry about that.”
I have to hand it to him—he quickly covers up the look of surprise at my joining him.
It flickers across his face for the briefest of moments, and then he’s all smarmy smiles over his egg white omelet.
“I generally don’t make a habit of sleeping with married women,” he says, looking over my shoulder toward the door one last time just in case someone better has come along in the last three seconds. “But I can make an exception.”
“I’m not married either. I—” I take a breath. This is what lack of sleep does to me. I can’t let him flirt me off my guard. “I’m not here because I want to sleep with you. I’m here to find out why you lied.”
In an instant, all of Reg’s flirty tricks—the smile, the relaxed posture—disappear. He picks up his fork and takes his time cutting off a bit of egg. “What makes you think I lied?”
“I looked into you,” I say, watching him closely for any sign that he’s about to blast some magic spell into my chest. But all he does is scoop up the newly cut bit of omelet with his fork and shove it in his mouth, chewing very, very slowly.
“You’ve never launched a successful app.
You’re not some amazing businessman. And you don’t have business partners that you’re showing pigs with.
Your rich father cut you off, and you’ve been drifting ever since. ”
He sets his fork down, and I tense. This is it. This is where The Witch reveals himself, where I finally get to see if I’m actually able to take on a criminal of his caliber and win.
Don’t screw this up, Jensen.
I won’t, I think.
I can’t. Hundreds of people are depending on me to keep them safe. They might not know they’re in danger, and hopefully they never find out, but I’m the only thing standing between them and catastrophe.
I’m so fully expecting Reg to leap to his feet and try something that I’m stunned when he instead covers his face with his hands and bursts into tears.
“What…?” I begin. Is this a trick of some sort? Lull me into a false sense of security and then blow me away with a magic spell?
“You can’t tell anyone,” he sobs. “Please. I can’t handle everyone knowing how much of a failure I am. Especially Dani.”
He sniffles, a long, super gross sound, and I grab a napkin and thrust it toward him. “Get a hold of yourself, dude. I’m not going to go around telling everyone. I just need to know why you lied.”
I try to imagine him saying, “Because I’m a criminal mastermind and this was my only way into the show,” but that’s looking increasingly unlikely at this point.
He blindly accepts my proffered napkin, blowing his nose loudly enough that I’m sure everyone in the diner is looking at us.
Then his hands drop to the table, his eyes still watery, his nose reddened from the rough napkin.
“You’re right. My dad cut me off. Told me I’d have to lose my own money from now on.
Which was fair. But you’re wrong about me drifting ever since.
I found things to do. I was supporting myself, building up a little nest egg.
It wasn’t much, but I was doing it on my own.
” He pauses to cut off a large chunk of his omelet.
“And then I found it—the perfect investment.”
I wait as Reg chews his breakfast mechanically, his eyes fixed on the window. He swallows. “Do you watch Hallmark movies?”
Well, that’s what I was expecting him to say next. “I’m sorry?”
“My stepmother was always watching them. You know how there’s, like, a struggling pumpkin spice factory in a small town, and a slick corporate guy from the city is going to buy it and turn it into, I dunno, some streamlined, ultra-modern company with lots of millennial gray walls and no charm?”
I feel like I’ve been kidnapped and shoved into a clown car against my will. “What are you talking about?”
Reg turns his face my way and sets his fork down on his plate with a clatter.
“I met a woman who was being forced to sell her family’s pig farm due to rising costs.
She was gorgeous. The farm was beautiful.
The pigs were…well, they were pigs. But it was all so wholesome and charming.
She had long legs and strong hands and the shiniest hair I’d ever seen. Great teeth.”
I’m no longer sure whether he’s talking about the woman or the pigs with that last bit. “What does this have to do with—”
“I thought it was just like one of those movies,” Reg rambles.
“Like I could sweep in with my little savings and buy the farm and then tell her I wasn’t going to pave it and turn it into an AI data center after all.
I was going to stay there and marry her, and we could run her farm the same way her grandfather and father had.
I told her, ‘My love for you has opened my heart. Even to pigs.’ And she told me that was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. ”
I really, really wish I’d listened to Grayson and crossed Reg off my suspect list. If he’s The Witch, then monologuing has to be among his greatest weapons.
Boring monologuing.
“Then we signed the papers, and do you know what she did?”
“I’m assuming it wasn’t marry you and raise pigs together for the rest of your lives.”
A squeaky sob escapes him, and he swipes at his drippy nose with the back of one hand.
“It definitely wasn’t. It turned out she was playing me all along.
She didn’t care about saving the farm! She hated pigs.
She hated farming. All she wanted to do was to get out of there with enough cash to get to the city and hopefully find some hot young stockbroker to sweep her off her feet.
She was gone before the ink was dry on the contract.
Meanwhile, I sank my entire life savings into a freakin’ pig farm, and the only chance I have of succeeding is making a name for myself at these pig shows. ”
Sheila walks by carrying someone else’s order, and I glance longingly at the plate of waffles in her hand. If I hadn’t cornered Reg, I could be enjoying some syrupy waffles right about now instead of being forced to listen to Reg’s tale of woe.
He looks at me with the saddest puppy-dog eyes I’ve ever seen, and as an MBI agent who’s arrested her fair share of people, that’s saying something.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this,” he says, and I don’t have the heart to point out that the entire diner has been pretending not to listen the whole time he was talking.
“I just have to make this pig farm a success. It’s the only way I can prove to my father I’m not a total failure. ”
I have a feeling it’s not just his father he’s wanting to prove himself to. And even though I don’t have much sympathy for spoiled rich kids, I know enough about having a voice in your head reminding you that you’re a screwup to feel a smidgen of empathy.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say.
Still sniffling, his face breaks into a smile. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Thanks, Marcy. You’re the best.”
“It’s Sally and—”
But Reg is already sliding out of the booth and getting to his feet. “It was great talking with you,” he says. “I’ll see you over at the barn?” And without waiting for an answer, he’s gone, the bell jingling loudly as he leaves.
The bell jingles again a moment later, and I look over my shoulder, unsurprised to see Grayson strolling my way, hands jammed into his pockets. He slides into the booth across from me, pushing Reg’s mostly empty plate out of the way.
Before he can say anything, Sheila appears. “Good morning, hon.” She looks at Grayson, then at me. “You going to make this one cry, too?”
Grayson beams with delight. “Did you make someone cry this morning?”
“Not just cry. It was a full-on ugly cry,” Sheila says gleefully. “I haven’t had that much entertainment first thing in the morning in years. Now, you two ready to order?”
“Waffles,” I say. “With extra syrup, please.”
“Same,” Grayson says. “Thank you, Sheila.”
She winks and heads off to put our order in.
“So,” Grayson begins. “You broke Reg.”
“I didn’t break him.” I sigh. “He’s not The Witch.”
To his credit, Grayson doesn’t say “I told you so.” Instead he asks, “So what now?”
“I guess we have another day of learning about pigs ahead of us.”
Just then, Sheila appears at our table. “Oh, just to let you know,” she begins. “The gentleman you were with indicated you were paying for his breakfast. I’ll just include it on your check, okay?”
And with a smile that tells me she knows full well she’s giving me brand-new information, Sheila swings away to deal with another table.