Riley Thorn and the Dead Guy Next Door

by Lucy Score

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Mrs. Penny snorted.

  “Yeah, that dude was a bullet sponge,” the skinny ninja in the onesie squeaked.

  “You shot him?” Riley screeched.

  “No.” Mrs. Penny snorted.

  “Translation?” Nick asked dryly.

  “The guy’s a half-assed criminal who the cops have no interest in,” Mrs. Penny explained. “He moves in with his girlfriend, who lives with her grandmother. Granddaughter has shit taste in men. He’s a real winner. Selling stolen prescription meds out the back door, starting fights with the neighbors. Guy won’t leave. Brings a bunch of other half-assed criminals home to party. Girlfriend and grandma move out. The guy’s still squatting there, trashing the house, terrorizing the neighborhood, and decides to go into the dog breeding business.”

  “Yeah, he starts picking up all the ‘free to a good home’ dogs on Craigslist and locking them in cages in the basement,” Squeaky added.

  “Dumb motherfucker,” Mrs. Penny said succinctly.

  Nick couldn’t help but agree.

  The silent ninja nodded too.

  “When it turns out half of the dogs are already fixed, he decides he’ll start a dogfighting ring instead,” Squeaky squeaked indignantly.

  “A dog fighting ring?” Riley was appalled.

  The brute in the hatch blinked at Nick in the rearview mirror.

  A pungent aroma with tear gas qualities tickled Nick’s nose.

  “For the love of God. What is that smell?” he gasped. His throat burned. His nose hairs felt like they’d been seared.

  The vigilante ninjas covered their already mask-clad noses.

  “Did someone just shit out a skunk?” Mrs. Penny asked.

  Nick rolled down the window and stuck his head out into the blast of fresh night air until his eyes stopped stinging.

  “No poop. Just dog farts,” Squeaky announced cheerfully.

  “He smells like my Uncle Burt after pork and sauerkraut on New Year’s Day,” Nick complained.

  Riley had her jersey pulled up to her eyeballs. All the windows in the vehicle were down now, and the stench was beginning to dissipate.

  “So you just decided to step in and take justice into your own hands?” Riley demanded through her shirt. Nick could hear the good girl horror in her tone.

  “Someone had to do something,” Squeaky squeaked.

  “That someone doesn’t have to be you,” she said, pointing at Mrs. Penny. “Why didn’t you just call the police?”

  Mrs. Penny’s eyeballs rolled violently behind her glasses and ski mask. “You think we didn’t try that? The grandma and the girlfriend called. Cops said it was a family dispute, and they should get a lawyer. The neighbors called with noise complaints and reports of criminal activity. Cops said they’d look into it. Never did.”

  “Did you give them a chance to look into it?” Riley asked, pulling her shirt off her face.

  “We gave them two weeks to get their asses in gear and poke around. Nothing. Nada. Zip,” Mrs. Penny said. “What’s Alma supposed to do? Just let this asshole destroy her house from the inside out? What are those neighbors supposed to do, let him sell meth on their block? The bacon wasn’t gonna do anything.”

  “So we stepped in,” Squeaky said with pride.

  Mrs. Penny gave him an approving nod. “Exactly. You think we started out running ops?” she said to Riley. “No! We were feeding the cops information.”

  “And they weren’t doing a darn thing,” Squeaky interjected.

  The silent ninja nodded vehemently.

  “Maybe they were busy investigating other cases,” Riley said lamely.

  Nick found her faith in a broken system oddly endearing.

  “Well, they sure as hell weren’t investigating the Meiser Jewelry robbery. That was two dickweeds from Baltimore in a car they stole in York. We sent the cops names, photos, and last known addresses. And what did they do?”

  “Nothing,” Squeaky said derisively.

  “How about the fire on Briggs Street? That was arson. Gang-related. We had two eyewitnesses who described the whole thing. And what happened?”

  Richard Nixon held up a gloved index finger and thumb in a circle.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Penny said. “Big, fat nada. Kid is still strutting around, vaping like a dumbass and hassling store owners for protection money. And don’t even get me started on the hit and run by Mount Calvary Cemetery.”

  Squeaky snorted in a perfect mimic of his elderly leader. “Yeah, don’t get her started.”

  But she was already started.

  “We handed that one to them on a silver platter, and they still couldn’t get off their asses to investigate. Hell, we sent them footage from one of them there video doorbell things from across the street. Stupid fucking guy gets out of the car to make sure the vic’s dead. He’s got his name tattooed on his forearm. Plain as day. Cops never even brought him in for questioning.”

  Nick had a bad feeling about this. A real bad feeling.

  “Shit is going down in the Burg, and the cops either don’t care or they’re getting paid to look the other way,” Mrs. Penny announced. Both her compatriots nodded fiercely.

  “They showed up tonight,” Riley pointed out.

  “Yeah, they showed up because a gang of vigilantes seeking justice for the city did their job,” Mrs. Penny said.

  “Tell them about the tip line,” Squeaky prodded.

  “What about the tip line?” Riley asked.

  “That anonymous tip line for reporting criminal activity? It ain’t so anonymous.”

  Nick met the old lady’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “What makes you say that?”

  “A couple of the people who called it and left tips on some pretty nasty stuff ended up meeting unfortunate ends,” she said.

  “Are you saying someone is taking out people who tip off the cops?” Riley asked.

  “Do you really think that a fifty-five-year-old woman would park on the railroad tracks and take a nap in the middle of the night two days after reporting her neighbor for running a prostitution ring out of his bagel shop?”

  Riley and Nick exchanged a look. Weber had mentioned Riley’s call to the tip line.

  Now he really didn’t have a good feeling.

  “You can drop me off at the corner up here,” Squeaky said, poking his Elsa-masked face between the front seats. “My mom will kill me if she sees me getting out of a car with strangers.”

  Nick pulled over, and Squeaky and Silent Bob Richard Nixon got out. Squeaky skulked down the block toward a big white house with a yard full of azaleas and statues. Silent Bob gave a little finger wave and jogged off in the opposite direction.

  Mrs. Penny poked her head between the seats. “Can we go through a drive-thru? Justice always makes me hungry.”

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the mansion’s parking lot with two bags of Taco Bell.

  “Thanks for the ride, kids,” Mrs. Penny announced, taking one of the bags and climbing out of the back seat.

  Riley didn’t move.

  But something did.

  “Mother of God!” Nick yelped in manly surprise.

  “What?” Riley asked from the other side of the giant dog face that had appeared between them.

  “I forgot there was a dog in here.”

  “Burt is unforgettable,” she insisted, moving the bag of tacos away from the sniffing nose.

  “How did you end up with him, by the way?” he asked.

  “He felt me up, so I thought I should commit.”

  If he’d committed to every woman he’d felt up…

  “Don’t worry. It’s not contagious,” she quipped.

  “Did you just read my mind?”

  “Oops. Sorry. I’m tired. Sometimes things sneak in that way.”

  “You know,” he said, eyeing the dog. “He could be dangerous.”

  Burt gave Nick’s face a bath with one long, disgusting swipe of his tongue.

/>   “He does seem terrifyingly aggressive, doesn’t he?” Smartass Riley yawned.

  “What are you going to do with a dog this size in an apartment your size?”

  She yawned again. “That’s Future Riley’s problem. Current Riley wants to eat tacos and go to bed.”

  He turned off the engine. “Let’s go, Current Riley.”

  “You don’t have to come up, you know,” she said, unclasping her seatbelt.

  “I want my tacos,” he said.

  “Then dinner is about to be served,” she said, climbing out of the vehicle. Burt the Farting Wonder Dog jumped out after her.

  Nick half expected him to lope off into the night in search of an antelope to eat, but the dog merely wandered over to an oak tree at the edge of the lot and lifted his leg.

  “It’ll be a miracle if that tree survives until morning,” he observed.

  “It’ll match the rest of the property,” Riley said, jerking her chin in the direction of the crumbling Tudor-style mansion next door. It looked as if it had been abandoned for a few decades.

  He followed her to the back porch, careful to keep back door jokes out of his head since she was in mind-reading mode. “Where exactly did you leave your Jeep?” he asked.

  “In the middle of a crime scene.”

  “You’re quite the girl, Thorn.”

  “So I’ve heard.” The dog followed Riley inside like he’d been shadowing her his entire life.

  “I’ll check the front door and meet you upstairs,” he said.

  “I’ll try not to feed Burt all your tacos.”

  Nick double-checked the lock on the door and the windows in all of the common rooms on the first floor. Gabe’s room was dark, and Nick imagined the man curled up on a futon next to a life-sized Riley doll made out of her dirty laundry.

  He was the one she called. He was the one sharing middle of the night tacos with her. Not her spiritual-advising wall of muscle.

  That counted for something.

  He took the stairs two at a time. On the second floor, he ran into Mrs. Penny coming out of the bathroom.

  “Thanks again for the pick-up,” she said, throwing him a jaunty salute.

  “About those cases you and your skinny friend mentioned,” he began.

  “Tip of the iceberg, my nosy friend. Be careful there,” she warned.

  “I’m an insurance salesman. Careful is my middle name,” he joked.

  “No, it’s not. Michael is. Nicholas Michael Santiago formerly of the Harrisburg PD. Owner of Santiago Investigations.”

  “You really did run me,” he said, impressed.

  “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta look out for Riley. She’s got shit taste in men.”

  “I’m a great catch,” Nick argued.

  “We’ll see if you earn your keep. Maybe it’s a good thing they aren’t looking too closely at who capped Dickie,” she said.

  “Why’s that?” He already had a pretty good idea.

  “They might have some cleanup to do if they find out that our friend upstairs saw more than she’s letting on.”

  Nick didn’t like that one bit.

  “But if you two do manage to survive this, I wouldn’t say no to some investigative gigs. No one ever looks twice at an old lady,” she said.

  “I’ll keep you in mind,” he said.

  On the third floor, he gave a cursory knock on Riley’s door before walking in.

  “Holy shit!” He yanked his t-shirt over his nose.

  “Nope. Just more farts,” Riley said from the other side of the room where she was holding a towel to her face and muscling open a window.

  Burt wagged his tail in canine pride from the couch.

  “What has he been eating?” Nick wondered. “Dead raccoon and cabbage?” He used the door as a fan and opened and closed it until the cross-breeze alleviated the worst of the retina-searing stench.

  They ate their tacos at the tiny dining table.

  “What do you think of what Mrs. Penny was saying?” Riley asked.

  “About dirty cops?”

  She nodded.

  “Dunno,” he hedged. “It happens in a lot of departments. Some get greedy. Some get power hungry.”

  “Do you think Detective Weber could be a bad cop?” she asked.

  “Weber is as by-the-book as they make them. If he’s up to something illegal, I’d be shocked.”

  “He does seem like he’s trying awfully hard to point the finger at me,” she mused.

  “I don’t want you worrying about that, Thorn. I’m gonna find out who did this, and then I’m gonna dance a jig on Weber’s desk when I deliver the killer to him.”

  She laughed, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “Well, thanks for the ride,” Riley said lamely when they’d finished the last of their food.

  Nick stood up and took his shirt off.

  Her brown eyes widened. “Uh, what are you doing?”

  “Going to bed.”

  “Bed?” she parroted, staring at the waistband of his pajama pants.

  “Burt called dibs on the couch, and someone has to take you to get your car in…” He glanced at his watch. “Less than four hours.”

  “Couch. Four hours,” she repeated, now staring at his chest.

  The dog sprawled on his back, legs in the air, and let out a happy yawn.

  “Come on, Thorn. I’ll behave myself,” he promised, tugging her to her feet.

  “You want to sleep in my bed with me?”

  “You’re cute when you’re really tired,” he said, leading her to the neatly made bed. Riley was a woman who appreciated order wherever she could arrange it.

  “Fine,” she said. “But don’t hog the blanket or the pillows.”

  This was a mistake. He knew it. If he slid between those sheets, things were going to change. Even if it was just sleep. Hell. Especially if it was just sleep.

  But it was his choice, his mistake to make. He didn’t mind mistakes. What he didn’t like was not making the decision himself.

  He climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet that smelled like Riley over him. She waited a beat before turning off the lamp on the nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.

  After another moment’s hesitation, he felt her weight on the mattress, felt her slide in next to him. They lay there in tense silence on their backs. Nick stared up at the ceiling. Riley held her breath.

  A mighty snore broke the silence.

  “Was that you?” he teased.

  “I think it was Uncle Burt,” she whispered back.

  Nick laughed quietly.

  “Thanks for riding to my rescue tonight,” Riley said softly.

  “Anytime, Thorn.”

  34

  6:01 a.m., Thursday, July 2

  For a guy who didn’t do relationships, Nick was really good at snuggling, Riley thought.

  His face was buried in her hair, breath tickling the back of her neck. His palm was splayed across her stomach under the thin tank top. Warm, solid, possessive. He held her against him, his thighs cushioning hers. His chest warm against her back. His… Hello!

  Her eyes flew open like cartoon window shades. That was some impressive morning wood prodding her in the butt cheek. His breath was hot against her neck, the arm draped over her waist heavy.

  Thin flamingo shorts did not feel like much of a security measure.

  Nick Santiago was just as dangerous asleep as he was awake.

  Except he wasn’t asleep. His mouth was moving down her neck, across her shoulder, hot brushes of lips and lust. That hand held her tighter from the front as his hard-on greedily introduced itself to her butt. She could feel the pulse of his blood through a layer of clothing.

  Her alarm came to life, filling the room with digital monastery chimes and chants.

  She flailed and reached for the snooze, but his arm tightened around her.

  “Nope,” he murmured into her hair. “Staying in bed. All day.”

  She managed to free one leg f
rom the covers and used her big toe to silence the alarm.

  He dragged her back and bit her in the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

  Gah. Shamelessly, she shifted her hips into him.

  “Mmm, Riley,” he murmured, his lips still moving against her skin.

  “Yes?” It was a whisper, a sigh, a plea.

  A sleepy groan rumbled deep in his throat. Quite possibly the sexiest sound she’d ever witnessed in her life.

  She promptly forgot about categorizing all of the sounds she’d ever heard when his hand shifted just high enough that fingertips brushed the undersides of her breasts. She was on fire. Never had she gone from asleep to “so turned on she might implode” this quickly.

  She should patent the Nick Santiago wake-up method and sell it as an alarm clock. She’d be a billionaire in a month.

  Teeth grazed her shoulder, nipped at the base of her neck. She didn’t know how she could be burning up from the inside and yet still have goose bumps peppering every inch of her skin.

  Morning breath. Armpits. The weird gunk that collected in the inside corners of her eyes. These were things she should have been concerned with.

  But right now, there was only one thing occupying her mind.

  One big, throbbing, insistent thing.

  “Where are your pants?” she asked on a laugh and a tremble.

  “I’m a night stripper,” he said.

  “What’s a night stripper?” she asked, the words getting stuck in her throat when his mouth settled on the nape of her neck.

  “I take my clothes off in my sleep,” he explained. “It was really embarrassing in junior high at sleepovers. Now, it’s just convenient.”

  Riley agreed wholeheartedly. She squeezed her thighs together, but it did nothing to relieve that desperate, empty need.

  This was a very bad decision. She couldn’t wait to make it.

  She rolled onto her back, and Nick smoothly slid his unfairly perfect body over hers. She peeked before he settled himself between her open legs. Yep. Unfairly perfect. Every damn inch of him.

  The gasp that ripped its way out of her throat when he gave an experimentally masterful thrust of his hips made him grin.