Chapter 34 Ben #2
Gran links arms with her. “If you were older, I’d invite you to join our Pearls and Pistols club. ’Course, you’d have to be
a resident, but we know how to clear openings when needed, right, Bernie?”
“Sure do,” Bernie says, carefully navigating her walker over the asphalt.
“Gran, that kind of talk makes it premeditated.” I use her keys and open the car door for them.
“Actually, under Texas law, you need intent and an overt act for it to be premeditated.” Cybil winks. “And unless your gran’s got a taser stashed in that floral purse, she’s
safe.”
“Ooh, she’s dangerous and smart.” Gran beams. “I’m glad my Benny has finally found a good girl.”
“Gran,” I warn.
“Poor boy was never the same after that girl broke his heart.”
“Gran,” I repeat, sharper.
“It was pitiful. My boy moped around for ages. What was her name?” She frowns. “Something odd, wasn’t it, Benny?”
I meet Cybil’s gaze and my chest tightens. “Billy. I called her Billy.”
Cybil swallows and an emotion flashes in her eyes so fast I can’t name it. She turns to Gran. “It was lovely meeting you both,
but I need to get to the grocery store to pick up some items.”
“Of course.” Gran pats her arm. “I’ll see you at your uncle’s birthday, right?”
“Yes,” Cybil says before leaving.
“Gran, you shouldn’t have said that,” I murmur after Bernie gets settled into the passenger seat and I fold her walker into
the back seat.
“Whyever not?” Gran touches my cheek. “The romantic tension nearly knocked me down when the two of you walked over. Besides”—she
points at me—“she needs to know you still love her. And you should know she does too.”
“I don’t know, Gran.” I glance across the street and see Cybil’s car still in the parking lot. “Things are . . . different now.”
Gran pats my cheek—hard. “Don’t give me that nonsense. Take it from me, life’s short. If you find a girl who knows your worst secrets and still splits
a biscuit with you in public? You marry that girl.”
I blink. “That’s your benchmark for love? Sharing biscuits in public?”
“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for biscuits and benches.” She grins.
Bernie cackles. I groan.
Gran gets into her car and starts her engine. “Go get your girl.”
I watch them drive off, then cross the street. Cybil’s car is still idling.
“You waited?”
“I know what I want to ask you.”
The air shifts, bringing reality crashing right over me. If she’s digging for information on Ramirez for Edmond or someone
else, I have to protect the mission and it will confirm what Ruby and Katherine already suspect. Cybil is part of the crime.
And that will effectively shut down any hope I—or my gran—might have about biscuits and benches. Unless, of course, they have
those in the federal penitentiary.
“Ben?”
My heart stutters. “You said my name.”
She looks at me, confused and a little frustrated. “Are we still doing this? Craig?”
“No, it’s just . . . I’d forgotten how nice it is to hear you say my name.”
She exhales. “Were you going to show up at the tree that day?”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“The day we were supposed to meet—”
“I know the day you’re talking about,” I say, cutting her off. “I waited. You didn’t come.” The hurt rushes over me and I
feel like that vulnerable teen boy all over again. “Why?”
Cybil stares at her hands gripping the steering wheel. “I was going to. But I heard you talking to Rex. You told him I was
a risk. That I was different and would never end up”—she gestures around her—“here.”
I frown, trying to recollect the conversation she’s referring to, and then it hits me. “Wait, that’s why you didn’t show up?”
She turns to me. “Why would I if you thought I had no intention of sticking around? I was too big a risk, right?”
“No,” I say softly, reaching through her window to tilt her chin up. “I was eighteen. Insecure. And wildly terrified that
the girl I’d loved since she put frogs in my boots might not love me back.”
She’s staring at me. I want to kiss her. Hold her. But I still have a job to do.
“Cybil—”
My phone rings.
She leans back. “It’s fine.”
It’s not, but when I see Ruby’s name on the screen, I don’t have a choice.
“Yeah?” I answer, turning slightly away.
“Where are you?” Ruby’s voice is tight, no preamble.
My eyes flick to Cybil. “With family.”
“You need to come in.”
“Now?” I step away from the car. “I haven’t gotten any information yet.”
“It’s too late,” she cuts in. “Bring her with you.”
My pulse kicks hard. “What’s happened?”
A pause.
Then Ruby says quietly, “They’re looking for her.”
Every nerve in my body goes on alert, and I search the area around me for Ramirez or Rook.
“You need to get her here—”
“I have permission to tell her the truth?”
“Just get her here.”
My fat lip and bruised nose tell me Cybil might be more dangerous than Kentucky Fried if I try to get her to Dallas without
telling her why. And she can shoot. “She’s not going to get into the car to go with me to Dallas without knowing why.”
“You don’t have to get her to Dallas.” The line crackles. “There’s an abandoned property at the end of Highway 39. I’ll send you the address.”
Highway 39? “You’re here?”
“Take the back road to pull in,” Ruby answers without answering. “See you soon.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, then at Cybil.
If Ruby’s here in Cypress Creek, it’s not a check-in—it’s because something went wrong, and fast. And all I need to do is
get Cybil to the edge of town without her asking any questions I can’t answer.
Sure, no problem. I should’ve taken my chance with Kentucky Fried.