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8
Her
I don’t meet him that night. Or the next. Or the one after that.
Too many nights pass with me sitting by the window watching him enter Atomic Buzz. But he’s always there, always looking up at my window before he walks inside, and always glancing toward my position in the shadows when he leaves hours later.
I’ve tried to focus. I’ve pulled out all the memories I have on Jacob from the box hidden beneath the floorboards under my bed. I’ve scattered the newspaper clippings, the grainy photos, the family tree, and covered my living room floor, my coffee table, and the sofa.
Those papers have lain untouched for days.
I’ve attempted to find dirt on the name Dan mentioned—Vaughn. Zeke or Zander or Zack. Nothing comes up. Jacob York had successfully disappeared, and this new Vaughn alias is a ghost. Or maybe the lead was a lie.
Either way, it cost Dan his life and has now trapped me in a tighter cage of paranoia. I haven’t left my apartment in days. I’m constantly alert, always on the lookout for anyone suspicious approaching my building. I reach for my gun whenever my phone vibrates with a notification that my door surveillance camera has been triggered. And sleep… Well, let’s just say sleep and I aren’t friends anymore.
I need to get a grip, but there’s no grounding here. Each day that inches closer to Dan’s funeral compacts the emotional instability clogging my veins. I’ve followed the investigation. Doctors say he suffered a dissected carotid artery from a blunt force trauma that led to a blood clot being carried to the brain.
The blunt force trauma was from me.
His death was a result of the injuries I’d inflicted.
He literally died at my hands, and as I look down at my palms, I can see the damage I’ve caused. My fingers seem savage. Less feminine, and now tarnished with brutality.
His funeral will be held the day after tomorrow, and I can’t stomach the mental images my overly creative mind conjures. All those people who will mourn a depraved man. All the tears. All that misplaced heartache.
He should’ve lived to endure his punishment.
I drag my gaze back outside and stare at Brent’s bar. Thoughts of the mystery man are the only thing capable of temporarily wiping away the anger. Even when he’s not there, I can see him walking through those doors, glancing up at me.
I need to get a grip. No. I have to escape and clear my head. Even if just for a day.
I shove from the window ledge, grab my coat, and leave my apartment for the first time in days. I linger in the lobby, stalking the sidewalk like a deranged mental patient as I scan the roads and sidewalk for police. A suspect hasn’t been a
I could be on any number of radars—authorities and Dan’s family.
I slip outside, the weight of a million stares on my shoulders even though fewer than ten people are in sight. I hustle across the road, my jacket collar high and my head low as I enter Atomic Buzz.
Inside, I’m relieved there’s only two of the regulars drinking away their sorrows. I approach the bar and slide onto a seat. “Hey, Brent.”
He pauses in the middle of stacking racks of glasses on the far counter and turns my way. “You’re back twice in one month. What did I do to earn the honor?”
“I actually came to ask a favor.”
He places the rack down and dusts his hands. “What’s up?”
A lump forms in my throat. I hadn’t realized asking for help would be difficult. Favors build co
“I know it’s late notice, but can I borrow your car tomorrow?”
“You heading back to Seattle to see your family?”
The lump grows, increasing the need to swallow.
He remembers. Of course he does. He listens to every word I say. He cares about me, even when he shouldn’t.
“Yeah. Just a quick day trip. I’ll have your car back before you close tomorrow night. I’ll make sure to fill it with gas and give you cash for the cab rides you’ll need while I’m gone.”
“Don’t worry about the money. You know you can borrow anything you want, whenever you like.”
I nod and lower my gaze in an attempt to ditch his lingering stare.
“You look tired,” he adds. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep,” I answer without thought. “I just didn’t want to rent a car at late notice. By the time I get to the lot and find—”
“I’m not talking about the car.”
I assumed as much.
I paste on a confident smile and lift my gaze. “Everything is super-dooper perfect. I couldn’t be better.”
Go hard or go home, right?
His eyes narrow, not buying my bullshit, and I hold the expression like a motherfucker, unwilling to lose this battle. I can’t handle his concern on top of everything else. I simply can’t.
Eventually, he nods. “Have you seen that man of yours is hanging around a lot? I think I’ve doubled my income this week because of him alone.”
I scowl. Maybe I should’ve held more interest in learning mystery man’s name because calling him ‘my man’ isn’t a trend I’m down with. “He’s not mine.”
Brent shrugs and grabs a liquor bottle from under the bar. He pours a nip, then grabs another bottle and another, finally filling it with soda before he slides the concoction toward me. “It sure looked that way when he left your building last week.”
Last week? Geez, I’ve been hermitting my life away for longer than I thought. “I kicked him out the night we left here together.”
“I know.” He gives a co
“He did?” I shuffle forward, not realizing my mistake of showing my piqued interest until it’s too late. And now I can’t be bothered hiding my intrigue. “What did he say?”
That smile turns to a grin. “He told me he likes you. That you were different. But he also said he wouldn’t apologize for carrying a gun because he was here to protect his family.”
“He told you about the gun?” Christ. The guy acts as if every word he utters is a secret, yet he happily blurts the details to Brent. Maybe the whole recluse act is just that—an act to hold my interest. “I don’t believe it.”
“What part don’t you believe?” he asks.
I don’t want to believe any of it. I don’t need to think about him liking me when he’s already become my only comforting thought through this hellish week. I don’t want my opinion of his gun to change, either. I’ve made a lot of my judgements about him based on his sinister intent with a deadly weapon. I’ve branded him dangerous because of that firearm.
If he only carried to protect his sister…
If he truly is a non-violent man…
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
“What now?”
“Nothing.” I grasp the drink and sip. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
“He seems like a genuine guy.”
Genuine? In what? To me, the guy seems genuinely bad news. Genuinely toxic to my concentration. Genuinely a huge fucking mistake with his overly inquisitive nature.
I transition from a sip to a gulp, chugging the alcohol until it’s all gone. “This isn’t a conversation we’re going to have.” I push my glass toward him and slide off the chair. “Is it still okay to borrow your car?”
Brent chuckles and retrieves a set of keys from a hook on the back wall. “Sure.” He lobs the prize at me. “Drive safe.”
I catch the offering, along with a relaxing sense of relief at the enabling escapism. “Thanks.”
I pull out the cash I’ve stashed in my jeans and place it on the bar. “For the cab rides and the drink.”