Now right there, I should have stepped back. I should have said “Let’s talk about it in the morning” and Conrad would have agreed. But alas, when he sounds like he’s telling me what to do, my rational mind screeches to a halt. Unless I ask for his advice, and even then it’s dicey.
“Since when do you decide what I do?”
“Let’s not argue. I’m just saying you don’t always need to solve other peoples’ problems.”
“Hell…lo? I just told you, my employee, my business, my problem.”
“But what good can possibly come of your interrogating Sister Erica about Elena’s past?”
“I already said, I might find out something that would help Belinda deal with her.”
“We’re going in circles. Can’t you just look in the mirror? Or at least look at your poor dog?” He was referring to a scar on my cheek that I’d acquired as a result of asking questions, and of course, to Buster being attacked. As far as I was concerned, all that was off limits.
“And what did I accomplish while earning this scar,” I said, pointing to my cheek.
“You accomplished almost getting yourself killed!”
“Don’t you talk to me that way. Some very bad people are off the streets because I stepped up, Mr. Can’t You Keep Your Head in the Sand.”
“Kirsten, I can’t keep standing by and watching you tip toe through land mines. Not to mention having to ride to the rescue.”
My face got very hot and my temples pounded. I stood up, arms held stiffly at my sides, fists balled. “You’ve crossed a line, buddy.” I meant to sound growly and menacing, but it came out kind of squeaky. I grabbed my bag and stomped out the door, calling to Buster to follow. My eyes were tearing up and I was damned if I was going to let Conrad see.
Buster and I got in the truck, Buster leaning cautiously against the passenger door, as far away from me as he could get. I pounded the wheel and the tears overflowed. I shouted, “Goddam you Conrad!” Buster whined softly. I started the engine, jammed the gearshift into first, and spun the tires as I headed for the resort’s main access road.