“Did you implant a bug in her or something?” he asked. “No, in her shoes.” “Her shoes? She has like a hundred pairs. You bugged them all?” “Nope. Just a few.” I pocketed my phone and got back on my bike. “She picks her shoes based on her mood. I figured if I ever needed this, it’d be because she was either trying to ditch me or she was pissed at me. Either way, I bugged a few of her boldest pairs of shoes as a precaution.” He got on behind me. “You bugged the shoes you’d thought she’d wear if she was mad or trying to ditch you?” “Exactly,” I said over the roar of the engine. “And I was right.”
