CHAPTER SIX
CLOVIS SAT ACROSS THE street in the Dodge Charger and watched the woman talking on the phone. The windows of the neighborhood diner were large. Though the name of the place was painted in bold, red letters across the front, he could easily see the punk and the woman inside.
She looked upset. He didn’t need to hear the conversation to know she was talking to somebody she didn’t like. Her body language screamed anger and frustration. Her shoulders were stiff, her movements jerky, and a frown darkened her pretty face. A moment later, her shoulders softened and her hand came up to scrub across her cheeks.
She was crying.
Clovis’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. His gaze slid to the punk, sitting at the counter drinking something from a mug and bobbing his head. The thin
