“Yeah.” He walked to the driver’s side.

Lennon hopped up, offering her his hand. She took it, and then held it for longer than necessary. A soft smile spread across his face, and he squeezed her fingers.

—

Queso drove them about ten minutes, to an area that looked more like a junkyard than an auto shop to Maisie.

“Wait here,” he said, pushing the door shut and walking toward the small building at the front of the mess.

He returned a minute later. He pulled open the van door, holding up a hand when Ivy, Beto, and Anna started to climb out.

“Just one of you,” he said. “Preferably someone who knows how to drive a big truck, because I don’t.”

Lennon unbuckled his seat belt. “I can drive anything.” He hopped out.

“Why just one?” Maisie asked, with more than a little suspicion.

“Someone needs to stay here and watch the van. You don’t just leave your shit parked wherever here. And I need you guys to leave in about ten minutes, okay? If something goes wrong, we’ll walk to the end of the road and meet you there.”

“And all four of us need to stay to do that?” Maisie asked.

“I can’t go over there with a whole crew; it’ll look suspicious,” Queso said impatiently. “Do you want the shipment or not?”

“It’s fine,” Lennon said, his eyes on Maisie. “I can take care of myself. Occasionally.”

Beto snorted.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust that Lennon could take care of himself. It was just that she was suddenly feeling a little panicky at the thought of something happening to him. She wanted him here, with her, where she could slip her hand into his.

“I won’t let anything happen to him,” Queso said. “You can trust me.”

“I literally just said I can take care of myself,” Lennon said.

Queso gave Lennon a skeptical look, and threw the door shut.

Maisie watched them go, an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

“Well,” Beto said. “Let’s hope Hadley’s right about this guy.”

LENNON

LENNON GLANCED BACK at the van as he walked toward the junkyard with Queso.

“She definitely doesn’t trust you,” Lennon said. “Maisie.”

“No reason she should.”

“What are we doing, by the way?”

“Maybe you should learn to be less trusting. You probably should have asked that first thing,” Queso said.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Queso pointed ahead, to an area where a few men were gathered, drinking something.

“Your name is John,” he said. “One of the Cartwright brothers, if they ask.”

“Okay…?”

“They’re going to call me Bobby, but that’s not my name.”

“Starting to think you don’t have a name, to be honest.”

They stopped as they approached the men, Queso pulling himself up to his full height. It was an impressive height. Lennon was six foot two, and Queso had a couple of inches on him.

“Hey,” he said, and Lennon could have sworn he made his voice a little deeper. “Tim said I should see you about the meds.”