The Real Mrs. Price by J. D. Mason

chairs. Reluctantly, he followed suit. She grimaced when she saw that thing, smothered in processed cheese, bacon, sausage, peppers, onions, and only God knew what else. Plato smacked his lips, wrapped those massive hands around a slice, folded it in half, and shoved most of it into his mouth.
    â€œThat’s delicious,” he said after he’d finished sort of chewing and swallowing.
    Marlowe chose her slice and then began the painstaking process of picking off the parts she didn’t want—onions, some brown things, bacon, sausage, peppers.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing?” he asked, mortified.
    â€œI can’t eat that. Too much cholesterol and sodium,” she said, shaking her head. After she’d finished, all she had left was part of the processed cheese, bread, and pizza sauce.
    He immediately began collecting everything she’d pulled off her slice and piled it onto his next one. Then he tried passing her that beer again.
    Marlowe shook her head. “No, thank you.”
    â€œYou’ve got to wash it down with something,” he pointed out.
    She nodded. “Water’s fine.”
    Plato raised both eyebrows like water was a foreign substance he’d never heard of as it related to beverages.
    They ate in silence, but the air was thick between the two of them. Marlowe owed him a debt, which scared the mess out of her, considering the warning she’d gotten about him from the bones, but he’d come to her rescue. The part that bothered her, though, was that he even knew she needed rescuing. How long had he been watching her?
    â€œWhat if you can’t find Eddie?” she finally asked.
    â€œYou’ll likely go to prison.”
    She stared curiously at him. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” she said, genuinely offended.
    He didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.
    This O.P. was no detective. So what was he? “So you’re just supposed to find Eddie and take him back to the people who hired you? Or do you plan on turning him in to the police?”
    Apparently, he worked on a need-to-know basis, and Marlowe obviously didn’t need to know anything. But maybe it was for the best.
    â€œHave you been paying as much attention to Lucy Price as you’ve been paying to me?”
    He grinned. “Nah. With you, it was like I won the lottery. Lucky me. I get to spend a whole lot more time with you than her.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” she asked suspiciously.
    â€œIt means that you’re the last person who’s seen him alive. So I’ve decided to start at the end and pick up the trail from there.”
    â€œI don’t know where he is. If I did, I’d have no problem telling you.”
    He stared at her with those dark eyes and made her spirit uneasy, and it must’ve showed.
    â€œI keep telling you that I’m not here for you, Marlowe. So why are you so afraid of me?”
    The last thing she’d wanted was for him to see her fear. But waving around pepper spray like an idiot obviously didn’t help.
    â€œI think that a person would be crazy not to be afraid of you.” She was being honest.
    He leaned back and graciously accepted that honesty.
    â€œWhat’d you and Lucy talk about?”
    She shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew about Lucy coming to see her. She was, though.
    â€œNot everything’s your business, O.P.,” she said coolly.
    â€œBut some things are,” he said, leaning forward. “You are my business. Lucy Price is my business, and anything or anyone else with any connection to Price is most definitely my business.”
    There it was. That hint of menace that seeped from him into the room like smoke. It was subtle, but not invisible, and it came with a warning, a threat. He was charming when he wanted to be, and when he needed to be. And then he was something else entirely.

 
    Open Your Eyes
    R OMAN SAT ACROSS FROM L UCY at a