Broadrick rolled over, giving me space to adjust my pillow after we'd messed up the bed with earlier activities. My feet were twisted in the sheets, and I kicked them around to get loose. The microfiber moose sheets wouldn't be so slippery. NB snorted and jumped on the bottom of the bed, circled four times, and then lay with his head on my feet.

When Broadrick rolled back into position, he handed me a black credit card. "I gave this for you to use. Stop leaving it on the table."

My nose crinkled, and I frowned, staring at the small piece of plastic. "I feel weird using it."

How many other girlfriends had credit cards from their boyfriends? Yes, it had my name on the card, but what if someone looked and figured out there was no way I had that kind of credit limit?

"Why?" he asked. He had the covers bunched under his shoulders but turned an inch toward me, making it impossible to hide from his gaze. It was all too intimate. Like he wanted to see the answer in my soul. And trust me, he didn't want to see any of that stuff.

How did I explain to Broadrick the crazy scenarios my brain created daily? He'd have me committed.

I shrugged and avoided answering. "Can't you just give me regular money?"

"You want cash?"

My eyes widened with excitement. He understood. "Yes, exactly."

"Like a prostitute?"

My excitement vanished. "Never mind."

He grinned as I snatched the card from his hand and tossed it on my nightstand. "Make sure it gets into your purse."

"Yeah, yeah." He'd won this round, but I always bounced back, eventually. "They'll love me the next time I hit up the candle store."

Broadrick kissed me on the temple. "Pick me up a vanilla."

**

The next morning, I sprawled out in the middle of the bed and reached my hand out, letting it stretch. Except I didn't hit another body. Broadrick loved it when I thumped him in the mornings.

What the hell? Why wasn't he here?

I peeked one eye open and quickly closed it from the early morning sun streaming in through the window. It made the room hot, especially under the covers, but I refused to turn on the air conditioning so early in the year.

Broadrick had pulled the sheets up and over his pillow before leaving and, since I hadn't messed them up, he couldn't have been gone for too long. I listened for running water to signify he was in the shower.

Nothing.

"Broadrick!" I waited for a beat. "Are you in the kitchen?"

Nothing.

Ugh. How did he leave already, and I slept through everything? Did he forget to walk NB?

I wiggled my feet, and NB's head fell off my leg. He raised it, grunted at me, and promptly put it back on the bed. Well, Broadrick obviously gave him the morning walk. Otherwise, he'd be jumping on my chest, begging to go out. NB had a tiny bladder. You couldn't blame him.

I had no good morning text messages on my phone, so I dropped it on the nightstand next to the black credit card he'd given me yesterday.

An hour later, after a shower, a bowl of cereal, and feeding NB breakfasts, Broadrick still hadn't reached out. Did he think I didn't care? Didn't he want to tell me where he was in case I worried? Did he understand how nosy I was? Obviously, he thought way better of me than he should.

My irritation grew as I'd gotten ready that morning with still no word from him. What if he was lying in a ditch somewhere dead? I'd never know.

I hated to do it, because it showed weakness and meant I was giving in first, but I sent Broadrick a text as I walked to my car.

VONNIE: You didn't say goodbye this morning.

I wanted to ask if he was dead and demand a proof of life photo to make sure everything was okay, but then he'd realize I was worried about him. I was too irritated at him to let him figure out I'd worried.

His text came as I turned onto Main Street, headed toward my first stop of the morning. I passed the bakery without stopping for an iced coffee. I'd have to let Broadrick know about my sacrifice when I finished being mad at him. No one appreciated all the times I wasn't drinking iced coffee. It really was a sacrifice.

BROADRICK: Sorry, I didn't want to wake you up.

His story sounded plausible, but I still didn't like it. He woke me up all the time.

VONNIE: Well, I'm awake now. You didn't even check in.

What kind of relationship were we in? What? He moves in with me and then thinks he doesn't have to do the morning text message. It was such a guy thing to do.

BROADRICK: I figured you were still sleeping.

My mouth fell open as I read the text and checked the time on my car radio. It was almost ten a.m. He thought I was still sleeping? Did he think I sat around all day sleeping?

I waited until I hit the stop sign by the high school to text him.

VONNIE: Do you honestly think I'm that lazy?

He answered right away.

BROADRICK: No. You're taking this all out of context. I just wanted to let you sleep. Calm down, woman.

Anger boiled up in me. Did he just call me woman? And not in a cute way. I thought of a hundred different things to text back to him, but by then I was going fifty-five on the way out of town and didn't want to use voice-to-text. There needed to be no mistaking all the words I had to send.

I made it halfway to the apartment complex, where I planned to question my current suspect, before calming down enough that I didn't want to tell off Broadrick. What was wrong with me? Yes, the not texting thing was annoying, but when did I become so needy?

Maybe Broadrick was onto something, and I needed more sleep. Or it was the stress.

It was probably the stress. Or lack of iced coffee. See the problems making healthy choices caused?

My list was super full, so the stress made sense.

Loud music interrupted my thoughts as I pulled into the apartment parking lot where Emma lived. I shut off the car and got out, trying to forget all my uncle troubles and focus on Emma. If I solved her case, I'd figure out how to get my uncle out of jail. I had no idea to how to do any of it, but I kept the faith that it would come to me when I needed.

The universe always had a way of working out.

The apartments were four buildings with a joint parking lot in the middle. The main doors to the apartments were inside a shared hallway, but closed doors didn't offer me a great view from the outside.

I headed toward building B, scanning the outside doors to find B4. Each of the ground floor apartments had their own small outside patio space. Some had pots already full of flowers cascading over the edges. Someone had a removable clothesline with laundry swinging in the breeze, and a woman in her fifties had a small dog on a leash in front of her patio area. He looked like a chihuahua had a puppy with a golden retriever. He had too much hair on his body and his ears were too wide to be a proper chihuahua.

"You looking for Emma?" she asked as I made my way toward the porch for B4.