Gray’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t give a fuck who started it. You almost took Sledge’s head off over a stupid joke. Get your shit together, Roman.”
I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline leaving my system as quickly as it came. “I know,” I mutter, running a hand over my face. “I know.”
Gray studies me for a long moment. “She was going to move on eventually,” he says, his voice softer now. “You had to know that.”
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the wall. Of course I knew. Logically, I knew. But logic has nothing to do with the knife twisting in my gut every time I think about Kayla with someone else. Logic has nothing to do with the cold, empty feeling that’s lived in my chest since the day she walked away.
“Take the night off,” Gray says. “No surveillance. I’ll assign someone else to do it. Go get drunk. Get laid. Do something other than torture yourself watching her live her life.”
I don’t respond. We both know I won’t listen. We both know that as soon as the sun sets, I’ll be back in my usual spot, watching over Kayla whether she wants me to or not. Because I can’t do anything else. Because I don’t know how to stop loving her.
* * *
“Nothing?” I lean over Hack’s shoulder, scanning the screen for something, anything he might have missed. “There’s got to be something. Tax evasion? Unpaid parking tickets? A library book he never returned in third grade?” My fingers drum an impatient rhythm against the back of Hack’s chair as he sighs for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes. A year and a halfsince the divorce, and I still can’t stand the idea of any man getting within ten feet of Kayla.
“For the last time, Roman,” Hack says, shoving my hand away from his keyboard, “Todd Grant is clean. Squeaky clean. So clean that if he was a floor you could eat off him. There’s nothing here.”
We’re currently in Hack’s domain, a tiny little room tucked away in the back of the clubhouse, a cramped space filled with monitors, towers, and enough tangled cables to make an electrician weep. I’ve been hovering over him for nearly an hour, watching him run search after search on Kayla’s new boyfriend and growing increasingly frustrated.
“That’s impossible,” I insist, grabbing a spare chair and dragging it closer. “Nobody’s that clean. Besides, I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy. Dig deeper.”
Hack swivels in his chair to face me, his expression a mix of annoyance and pity. Neither sits well with me. “You just don’t like him because he’s dating Kayla. I’ve checked the guy out thoroughly. There’s nothing.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustration gnawing at my insides. “What about his job? Maybe he’s embezzling?”
“He works at his uncle’s Honda dealership,” Hack says flatly.
“Exactly! That’s suspicious right there! Nepotism. Probably is too much of a hack to get a job anywhere else.”
“You’re really reaching here Sullivan.”
“He’s probably a closet alcoholic. Gets drunk everyday at work and his Uncle covers up for him.”
Hack gives me a look that suggests he’s questioning my intelligence. “Well if we’re moving into the realm of fantasy, maybe we should look into the possibility that he’s actually the Zodiac killer. Or maybe the tooth fairy.”
I ignore that little dig and press on. “What about his family, where is from?”
Hack turns back to his computer with a long-suffering sigh. “Born and raised in Utah. One of two kids. Father’s a high school principal, mother’s a nurse. He graduated from the University of Utah with honors. Father died years ago, mother moved to Billings a few years ago, probably to be closer to her daughter. Todd came with her.” He gestures at the screen. “It’s all right here.”
“And you’re sure that hasn’t been doctored?” I press.
“Jesus Christ, Roman.” Hack throws up his hands. “What do you want me to tell you? That he’s secretly a serial killer? A Russian spy? The Pope? The guy is exactly what he appears to be; a used car salesman with no skeletons in his closet.”
I collapse back into my chair, a hollow feeling spreading through my chest. I had been thrilled when Kayla ended things with Kirby, the very perfect, very boring accountant. But somehow, Todd Grant is worse.
“There has to be something,” I insist, more to myself than to Hack. “I just need one thing, one reason to—“
I stop abruptly, catching myself before I can finish the thought.
Hack’s eyebrows rise. “One reason to what, Roman?”
“Well I’m just…I just want to make sure there isn’t any reason to be concerned about this guy,” I finish lamely. “He’s dating my ex-wife. I have a right to know who he is.”
“Uh-huh.” Hack’s tone makes it clear he’s not buying my explanation. “Well, like I said, he’s clean. No criminal record, pays his taxes on time, probably calls his mom every Sunday.” He scrolls through more information. “Oh, and he coaches his nephew’s Little League baseball team in his spare time.”
I sit up straighter, staring hard at the family picture Todd recently posted on Facebook. “Nephew? Are we sure that’s his nephew?”
“Well…yes” Hack keeps scrolling. “Son of Jodie Small, Todd’s sister. It’s all right here.”