Chapter Thirty-Eight
ANGEL SINCLAIR
The next morning, every muscle in my body hurt. Arms, shoulders, back, butt, thighs, you name it. I could barely walk, even after taking ibuprofen. Regardless, there was no way I was missing the regular Saturday trip into town. I needed to buy some supplies and wanted to do some reading.
Neither Frankie nor Wally made it into town, as they’d both elected to sleep in. I didn’t see Kira, either, as she’d already been gone when I awoke. The rest of us sat on the bus quietly, staring out the window, sore from the difficult physical challenges of the trial.
The bus dropped us off, and we all went our separate ways. I headed straightaway for the main square, where I could make some calls. I talked with my mom for about twenty minutes, and then Gwen for another fifteen. I kept my comments to glowing endorsements of the curriculum and staff and mentioned zip about the physical pain and emotional roller coaster I was riding. After I hung up, I headed to the small bookstore café, which had become a favorite, to do some private research on my dad.
The café was nearly empty except for two girls sitting at a table and looking at their phones and the old guy who’d paid for my hot chocolate the last time I’d been in here.
He looked up from his newspaper. “Well, hello again. You’ve got money today?”
I held up my wallet. “I’m happy to pay you back.”
“You will not. It’s not every day an old man like me gets to buy a young lady a hot chocolate and croissant.”
“Thank you very much. It’s much appreciated.”
“My pleasure.”
He went back to reading his paper as I got in line to buy a hot chocolate. I added a cinnamon roll to my order, because it smelled heavenly.
I picked the same table I usually had so I could angle my laptop to the wall and no one could see what I was doing. It was just a precaution, but after the email warning me to beware of possible criminal elements in the NSA who might be monitoring me, I had become exceptionally careful about what I did online. I ate half of my cinnamon roll before I started reading information on Joseph Lando. When my hot chocolate cooled, I drank it, enjoying the rich flavor.
The bell on the café door rang, and I looked up as Jax strolled in. He spotted me, and I swear his eyes lit up. He made a beeline for my table, so I quickly closed my laptop, resting my elbows on top of it. This was turning into a regular meeting place for us, but oddly, I’d started to look forward to it. “Hey, Jax.”
“Hey, Red. How’s the hot chocolate today?”
“Excellent as always, and I actually paid for it by myself.”
He slid into the chair opposite me and looked over his shoulder. “Even though your boyfriend is here?”
“Very funny. He’s really nice. I offered to pay him back, but he wouldn’t take my money.” The teenage girls looked at Jax and giggled. I tipped my head toward them. “Those girls like you.”
“What girls?” He didn’t take his eyes off me.
“The girls at the table over there. You passed them on your way in.”
“They’re not my type.”
“Oh, you have a type?”
“I do.” He grinned and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m partial to redheads.”
Even though I thought he was just teasing me, my cheeks heated anyway. “You’re impossible, you know.” He seemed amused by my blush, so I decided to change the subject. “How are you feeling after yesterday’s trial?”
He leaned back, shrugged his shoulders a couple of times. “My shoulders and arms are killing me, but personally, I think the obstacle course was way too easy. Something’s off. I have a feeling they’re preparing to spring something big on us. Something to shake things up.”
“What are you talking about?” I looked at him incredulously. “The trial yesterday was not easy. Every part of my body hurts and might possibly hurt for the rest of my life.”
“It was easy,” he insisted. “They’re priming us for something else. A shock, an unexpected twist. They think we’re complacent, so they’re going to make us change the way we’re doing things.”
“Complacent? Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
I cocked my head, studying him. “And you know this…how, exactly?”
“Instinct.” He lifted his hands. “I told you I’m good at reading people and situations. It’s a gut feeling, but it’s a strong one.”
I didn’t know what to make of his so-called gut feeling, but I figured I’d find out soon enough. “Fine. Go get your coffee and tell me more about this gut feeling of yours.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to coffee, Red?”
“Only if you bring me back another cinnamon roll.”
He laughed and stood. “Ah, now that’s a deal I can get behind.”