Doin' a Dime Vale, Lynn (best beach reads of all time txt) 📖

amount of ‘not paying attention’ I did.

Before prison, I would’ve been so engrossed in my phone, or my computer, that I wouldn’t have even paid the three men any attention at all.

AP—after prison—that wasn’t the case.

I was more than aware that they were there in the truck beside me as I waited.

That had to be why I allowed it to happen at all—them getting that close to me.

At first, I thought that they were waiting for their food like me.

I was trying to follow a movement on the identity I’d filched from the hit man’s computer, engrossed in that, when one of the men got out of the truck at the next space over and walked toward the door.

He handed the woman cash, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re not able to accept cash in that large of bill amounts after a certain point in the day.”

The man scowled. “I only have a hundred-dollar bill at the moment.”

She looked torn, but ultimately stood her ground. “You can pay on the app! But I’m sorry, we can’t take hundred-dollar bills.”

The man scowled hard. “Shit.”

The young woman frowned, taking a step back at the look on the man’s face.

That’s what got my full attention.

“I’m hungry,” he growled. “I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours. I’ve driven six hours straight. And you’re telling me you don’t accept cash.”

I looked at the girl who was wincing. “I’m really sorry, sir.”

The man hissed in frustration, looking sort of torn.

Then he reluctantly reached into his pocket and produced a credit card. A credit card not in his wallet.

I frowned hard.

The woman smiled and hurried back inside.

The man scowled and headed back to his truck just as my food came out.

Just as she was handing me my drinks my phone pinged, signaling an alarm.

The hit man had used his credit card.

I quickly took the food and the drinks, and shoved them unceremoniously into the saddlebags, knowing that the fries were spilling and not giving one single shit.

“Thank you,” I said on autopilot.

“My pleasure.” The woman replied, then handed the man in the truck beside me his credit card back.

She was just reaching the door when the details of the transaction hit my phone.

Chick-Fil-A.

Son of a bitch.

I looked over at the man in the truck beside me, caught the license plates on his truck and saw that they matched the state that the hit man was from. Cataloged the man’s reply of ‘just traveled six hours’ and knew that was synonymous with the length of time it would take to get from Oklahoma to here.

And realized that the man beside me was hired to kill my wife.

Or, at least, one of the three was.

But if they were together, they were likely all guilty.

Switching apps, I texted and alerted Lynn of what was going on, gave him every detail I could, then put my phone away.

After starting my bike, I took my phone back out and texted Wyett that I’d be late, and then waited for the truck to leave.

It was only after they ate in their car and waited another fifteen minutes past that that they finally made their way out of the parking lot.

Having never followed anyone before, I wasn’t sure how far to keep back, which was my downfall.

I got too far and wasn’t able to keep up when he made a turn that would lead him to the interstate.

I lost him in the chaos merging onto the interstate.

Cursing myself, I went to get right back off and head home when I realized how fucking stupid I’d been.

They hadn’t gotten on the interstate. They’d gone to one of the hotels that were right off the interstate, that shared a feeder road with the on ramp.

Pulling yet another bitch on the feeder road and heading back to where I started, I came to a halt at a gas station that was next to the two hotels, and parked.

Putting my hands in my pockets, I made my way around the back of the gas station, trying to appear as if I belonged when we all knew that I didn’t.

I was just at the brick wall that separated one parking lot from the other when I froze.

“You!”

I turned woodenly to see an older man that looked vaguely familiar, standing next to an ostentatious RV, pointing his meaty finger in my direction.

When I went to turn back around, intent on ignoring him, he took exception to my immediate dismissal of him.

“Hey!” he growled. “I’m talking to you.”

I felt my eye twitch.

“Yeah?” I asked. “I’m a little busy.”

“Being a creeper?” he asked. “It’s not enough that you taint a perfectly good public bathroom, but now you’re going to peep in the back of people’s windows?”

I frowned, finally realizing who this man was.

The old fucker from the campground bathrooms that had been present at the time that I was fucking the hell out of Wyett in public.

At the time, I hadn’t given a single shit that he could hear. I hadn’t given a shit about anything but what I was doing to Wyett.

Now, though, the little asshole was pissing me off, and I almost regretted my decisions.

And I say almost because I could never fully regret anything that Wyett and I did together.

“It’s a parking lot, moron,” I said as I turned my back on him once again.

What I said must’ve really pissed him off, because just as I got my eyes on the man that I was looking for—at least their truck anyway—that’s when I knew I should’ve never turned my back on him.

Because turning my back and dismissing him as harmless was the thing that bit me in the ass.

“Don’t turn your back on me, motherfucker!” the guy cried.

That’s when I felt it.

But just as soon as the pain arrived, it drifted away.

Lucky for me, and unlucky for the little pecker head, I didn’t have to lay on the dirty asphalt too long before help arrived.

Lynn appeared with Zach out of the shadows as if they were there