The Sleuth Will Set You Free - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Sixteen

Grandma didn't keep much food in her suite.  A Taser and about seven different kinds of duct tape, sure, but not a lot of food.  There wasn't much point.  She spent the majority of her time in her office or in the classrooms, and most of the food she ate was prepared by five-star chefs.  All she kept in her room was a few late night snacks, so when Dad and I had dinner together, he usually had to get... creative.

"It could totally work!"

"Dad.  Rice cakes and a can of tomato soup is not dinner."

"I'm not saying it'll be a pleasant dinner," he said, sticking the can and the crinkly wrappers back into the cupboard above the sink.  "But it could work—can't be anything worse than what Grandma serves you at the safe house."

He leaned over the fridge, using the door to prop himself up as he searched through the contents.  "You know," I said, falling back into the couch.  "All the cool dads pick up McDonald's when they're on the way to their daughter's super secret spy school."

Dad huffed, switching to the freezer now.  "Then I guess I'm not a cool dad," he said.  "Which I'm totally fine with.  I'd much rather be a good dad.  A safe dad.  A responsible—ooh, there's ice cream in here.  Do you want ice cream for dinner?"

"Dad."

"Fine," he said, shutting everything back up.  "I'll go see if Chef Luis wants to supply us with any leftovers."

"And if he doesn't?"

He shrugged.  "Then I guess I'll just have to put these covert skills of mine to good use, won't I?"

I though about just how talented Chef Luis was with a spatula and exactly what he did with it when someone tried to take his food.  "Good luck."

Dad grinned, a smile made up of pure mischief.  Challenge accepted, he seemed to say, and with that he was out the door and I was alone.  I was alone.  I can't even begin to describe how great it felt to be alone.

Knowing my father, and knowing Chef Luis, it was going to take a while for Dad to get back, so I took advantage of the comfiest couch in the world and stretched out.  It took a few tries for me to find a position that worked with my shoulder.  Scout had been right.  I'd made it worse.  I had to wonder if sacrificing health for knowledge had been worth it.  I hadn't even gotten the chance to shoot off more than three bullets.  Child's play.  I needed to practice more.  I needed to get back to Blackthorne.

Maybe this would be the night I asked him.  Maybe I'd finally work up the courage to ask my father if I could go back.  If I could take my place among my peers.  He, of all people, could understand the importance of practice.  Or maybe if I told him that I was Captain now, he'd be so proud that he'd drive me to practice himself.

Yeah, I decided.  Tonight would be the night.

When had the couch gotten so comfy?  And how long had it been since I'd last slept?  I didn't know, but the combination of the two questions made for one answer—I was dozing off, so I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around my shoulders, not allowing myself to go unarmed while my guard was down.

I never used to sleep with the blankets on.  Dad always talked about how crazy it made him when I was a baby.  I used to kick them right off and he would come in and throw them on again, only to find that they were back on the floor five minutes later.  "Then just leave them off," Mom would tell him when he grumbled about it, but Dad would always argue, saying that I was going to catch a cold.

Ever since the dock, I'd gained a real appreciation for sleeping with the blankets over my shoulders.  I didn't know what it was.  Logically, I knew that they provided no real protection.  A knife could pierce through cloth just as easily as it could skin, and yet I still felt safer underneath the covers.