Uh-oh. Considering I’d begged him for the three jobs this week, I didn’t think this was an allocation type of arrangement. More of a request when I can fit it into my schedule deal.

“Ah. Damn. I just signed on for a kid’s birthday party this weekend,” I tell him, pulling the lie out of my ass. “And there’s distance growing between Sir Squeakerton and me, so I really need to get in some quality time with him because he’s, quite frankly, an asshole when he’s neglected. Chews through all my clothes. And then I need to house-sit for my sister’s girlfriend in … umm, December? Which will bring me back to the issues with Sir Squeakerton and spending time with him. But, hey. I’ll come talk to you in February. I should have a gap in my schedule then.” That gives me a good six months to find something permanent to use as an excuse.

Luther looks me over. “One Coke won’t keep you hydrated for long.”

“I know how to make things last.”

I swear I feel Luther watching me the whole time I walk away.

Not that it matters. If this guy stays hidden—and he will if he doesn’t want a repeat visit—then no one will ever figure out what I know. It’s the perfect crime.

Besides, once I have the money, what’s Luther going to do? Go to the police? I can picture how that conversation will go down.

“Where’s Everett and Arlie?” I ask, reaching where Tommy is sitting at the usual table.

“Dunno. Working, probably.”

I slide onto the stool across from him. “Just finished a job myself.”

He looks me over, clearly surprised. “Really? And how are you finding it?”

Terrifying? Horrible? Something in need of trauma pay? “Interesting?”

The way my voice goes up at the end makes him laugh. “Yeah. It sure is.”

“I don’t think it’s for me though. I’ve got a really busy schedule coming up, and trying to fit it all in … you know how it is.”

He grins as he lifts his glass to his mouth. “Couldn’t pull the trigger, huh?”

“Actually, I pulled it a lot of times.” Too many times. Many triggers have now been pulled, with a zero percent hit rate.

Tommy’s eyebrows jump up, and he sets his glass back on the table. “Shit. Wouldn’t have picked that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re … you.”

“Devastatingly charming and resourceful?”

“I was thinking more of a wishy-washy good guy.”

“Good guy?”

He shrugs. “Don’t take it so hard. Most people see that as a positive thing.”

“I’m a total badass, what are you even talking about?”

“Right, yeah, my mistake.” He can’t keep the humor off his face. “Don’t kill me in my sleep.”