“Dude, look, your cousin comes in during the afternoon lull, pretends to rob me, you rush up, clock him, and he runs off with no one the wiser. What could go wrong?”
He lifted an unconvinced shoulder.
“I’m not saying you’ll get the girl, Lewis, but until you do something to get her attention, she’ll never give you the time of day.”
Though I would have preferred Lewis find someone who saw him for who he was, the poor schmuck was in love with Francie. She was a cutie with shoulder-length red hair and an adorable pug nose, but she had the arrogance to match her looks. I was certain she’d grow up someday, but at this point, she saw only Lewis’s size. Not how wonderful he was. Or talented. Or dashingly handsome.
Then again, who was I to argue? I was attracted to evil incarnate. Our libidos didn’t always take the safest paths. And if I was completely honest with myself—again, something of a rarity—I wanted Francie’s eyes as far away from Reyes as I could get them. Not that her lack of interest would give me a snowball’s chance, but in my warped brain—the same brain that screamed for me to run in the opposite direction every time Reyes was near—it would up my odds that he would notice me. The heart wasn’t the most logical organ. The spleen, however …
What Lewis didn’t know was that, while I was going along with his plan to win Francie, I was secretly placing stimuli, kind of like those ads that used subliminal messages to get consumers to buy their products. Only I wasn’t quite as subtle.
“So, I heard Shayla was at your concert this weekend.”
“Really?” he said absently. “I didn’t see her.”
One of our third-shift servers, a tiny, elf-like creature named Shayla who looked about fourteen but was actually almost twenty-one, was just as much as in love with Lewis as he was with Francie. No, she was more in love. Lewis was simply infatuated. Shayla truly cared for him, so much so, she wanted him to have what he wanted, aka Francie. She knew he had a thing for her, and instead of flirting or asking Lewis out, she stood back and gave Francie every chance possible to see the wonderful man in front of her.
That was true love. So what I had for Reyes wasn’t so much true love as, well, stark raving obsession. Which, oddly enough, worked for me.
Erin rushed past with a tray full of drinks, reminding me I should probably get back to work. Or not. Everyone in my section was eating happily. Who was I to interrupt?
When we’d first come up with The Plan, as we were calling it, it was in direct response to a certain redhead falling head over heels for a certain raven-haired, preternatural regular. Her infatuation with Reyes had left Lewis miserable.
“Who am I kidding, Janey?” he’d said one afternoon, confiding in me, trusting me with his most precious secret.
As fate would have it, thanks to a spider bite and a headless picture that went viral of a man who’d dropped his jeans at a Chevelle concert, I knew his most precious secret, and it had nothing to do with Francie. The man in the picture became known as the Anaconda, and I knew it was Lewis because, again thanks to a spider bite and Lewis’s fear that he was going to lose his leg after he got one on the inside of his thigh, I’d seen the skull tattoo on his hip. It was exactly like the infamous Anaconda’s, right down to the words COLOR IS A LIE underneath the skulls.
Most guys would love for a photo of their little friend to go viral, but I suspected Lewis’s unwillingness to step forward into the spotlight had to do with his deep respect for his mother. He was a good guy. Who, for some reason, dropped his pants at a Chevelle concert.
Kids these days.
“She’ll never go out with me,” he’d said, drowning his sorrows, and a glazed doughnut, in a cup of joe. “Not when there are men like that on the earth.” He’d indicated Reyes with a nod.
“You’re right,” I said. When he gaped at me, I added, “Hey, I’m on your side. It’s just, the guy’s freakishly hot.” We glanced at Reyes again, my glance lingering a bit longer than Lewis’s. “She has to notice you. Really notice you.”
My mind raced, and I was busy nibbling my bottom lip when it hit me. The Plan. It was like a lightning bolt, and I was like a metal rod mounted on top of an elevated structure, electrically bonded with a wire conductor to interface with the ground and safely conduct the lightning to the earth. Excited, I turned to him, but my expression gave him pause.
“What?” he asked, suspicion in his voice.
“You need to save her.”
“From what? That guy would kick my ass.”
“Not from Reyes. Could you imagine?” I accidentally snorted as I laughed, the thought was so preposterous.
He stared at me with nary a hint of amusement in his moss green eyes.
I sobered. “Sorry, but you could save her from, I don’t know, like a robber or something.”
He turned dubious. “Sounds kind of dangerous. And where are we going to find a robber, exactly?”
“No, not a real robber. Do you have any friends who could pose as a robber? And we need a gun.”
“A gun? Look, Janey, I appreciate the sentiment—”
“You’re right,” I said, deflating. “I mean, she’ll take note of how awesome you are someday, right? Maybe in twenty years? Because girls like her always appreciate the good guys. After they’ve taken a dip in the bad end of the pool. Over and over. For several decades.”
Somewhere deep down inside I knew the unfavorable description of women I’d just given him applied to me most of all, but I’d take one for the team. This was Lewis. He deserved a shot at happiness.
He let out a resigned sigh. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
And thus The Plan was born. He was going to have his cousin pretend to rob the place, aka yours truly, while Francie looked on in horror. Lewis would save us by punching him out—they might need to practice that move—then his cousin would run before the cops got there.
Sadly, we wouldn’t be able to identify the robber. It was all going to happen so fast, Francie wouldn’t have a chance to be too scared, but once she saw Lewis in action, once she saw how wonderful he was, she’d have to fall for him. Or at least, realize he was alive.
“Your cousin knows what to do, right?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“Then this goes down tomorrow. It’ll suck if Francie calls in sick.” When he cast me a horrified look, I dismissed the thought with a wave of my hand. “She won’t. Don’t worry. That woman is as healthy as a horse.” And she wouldn’t dare miss an opportunity to see Reyes.
Speaking of whom, it had been several minutes since he’d gone to the restroom, and he had yet to come out. I gave Lewis a thumbs-up and wandered that way, feigning my own need to make pee-pee. When I entered the hall, I heard voices coming from inside the men’s room.
I’d noticed Garrett wasn’t at his table. Maybe that was who Reyes was talking to. Their voices were muffled, but I could feel strong emotion coming from inside. Like torrential strength emotion.
I bit my bottom lip and eased closer.
“Gemma said not to push her,” a male voice said.
The wall shook with a loud thud, startling me, but I wasn’t about to give up my ringside seat. I inched even closer.
“The only one I’m pushing is you.” That came from Reyes. I’d know that bourbon-rich voice anywhere.
And the other was definitely Garrett. I had no idea they knew each other. They never spoke. Never said hi. Never called each other bitch, as men were wont to do.
Garrett said something else, but his voice sounded oddly strained, so I couldn’t make it out.
“What’s going on?” another male voice said from beside me. Right beside me.
I swung around and jumped with a humiliating squeak before offering Osh my best glare. It was good, too. So good, I’d thought about naming it. But that might seem weird.
“Osh, what the hell?”
That Cheshire grin spread across his face. He looked past me toward the door. “What are you doing?”
I fought the urge to follow his
gaze. “Nothing.”
“Eavesdropping?” he asked, as though repeating what I’d said.
He stepped closer. So close I had no choice but to back up. I kept backing until I hit the door, but I stood my ground from there. I raised my chin and dared him to try to force me farther. Would. Not. Happen. Unless one of them opened the door.
“Anything interesting?” he asked.
I wasn’t born yesterday. He didn’t want me to overhear what was going on in that room, and it had me very curious as to why that might be. “Not as interesting as this,” I countered.
“Yeah?” He arched a brow, and before I knew what he was doing, he raised an arm over my shoulder, leaned closer, and slammed his palm into the door.
It opened instantly, and I stumbled, yep, right into Reyes’s arms.
Utter mortification washed over me. I pushed away from him, away from the blistering heat of his hold, the fierce strength of it. Darting around Osh, I rushed out of the restroom and back to the station, wondering one thing and one thing only: How did they know each other, and what were they arguing about?
Okay, that was two things. Perhaps I wasn’t a mathematician after all.
5
I don’t think I could ever complete anyone.
But driving someone insane sounds doable.
—INTERNET MEME
The men came out a couple of minutes after I did. Garrett paid and stalked out, his anger leaving me winded, but Osh and Reyes stayed behind. Osh took Garrett’s booth, while Reyes went back to his own. They didn’t look at each other. Didn’t speak. But I suddenly had the feeling that was all for show.
Yet, what show? Why would I care if they knew each other?
Unless …
I narrowed my lashes and looked at them through the menacing slits created by my lids. Maybe I was really the daughter of a billionaire and they were planning to kidnap me for ransom. Two of the three would-be abductors were only part human. They probably had really bad ethics.
“He lives at the Hometown Motel.”
I turned to Francie, then grabbed a wet towel to wipe down the prep station.
She pressed her lips together in amusement, her pale skin luminous beneath her bouncy red hair, and followed me. She was holding a phone and scrolling through pictures as she spoke. “Reyes. He lives at the Hometown. You know, that motel on Howard? It’s a couple of blocks over.”
I knew it. I walked by it at least twice a day to and from work. It was right down the street from my apartment. It wasn’t exactly the Waldorf, but what did I care? He was a strapping young man with a menacing scowl. He’d be fine.
I knew better than to ask. I knew it was what she wanted, but my curiosity got the better of me. “How do you know where he’s staying?”
She grinned and leaned into me as though we’d been best friends since grade school. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” The implications were crystal clear, and yet I wasn’t sure I believed her. She seemed a little too desperate for my reaction. When she got none, she added, “His room has navy carpet and a blue-and-gold bedspread. It’s all very manly.”
That time I flinched. What made it worse was that she saw.
Erin walked up then, her long blond hair pulled up into a messy bun. She didn’t want to be that close to me, but apparently the phone in Francie’s hand was hers.
“She is so cute, Erin,” Francie said, scrolling through more pictures. “Isn’t she cute?”
Much to Erin’s chagrin, Francie held out the phone for me to see. I knew she’d recently had a baby, but that was about it.
I leaned over to look at the phone and a jolt of shock rocketed through me. I gasped and threw a hand over my mouth before catching myself. They were playing a prank, and I’d fallen for it like a drunk with vertigo.
But they weren’t laughing. If anything, Erin was ready to scratch my eyes out. Even Francie was appalled. The scowl on her face could scrub the ring off a toilet.
Erin jerked the phone away from Francie and stalked off. Francie shot razors at me before leaning in and saying softly, “You’re a bitch.”
I blinked, utterly confused. My heart was still racing. I didn’t get it. What they showed me was not a picture of a baby but a picture of a decomposing elderly woman, her toothless mouth open as though she were screaming into the phone, her eyes solid white, almost glowing.
What the bloody hell?
And what made matters worse was the fact that my dramatics attracted the attention of one Mr. Reyes Farrow. He eyed me from underneath his lashes, his brows drawn in concern.
“Hey,” Lewis said from the pass-out window. “What was that about?”
Embarrassed for the twelve hundredth time that day, I picked up the coffeepot. “I have no idea,” I said under my breath, just before stalking off. It was trending, after all.
After filling the cups of several customers, I made my way toward Cookie’s husband. Unfortunately, I had to deal with Mark and Hershel along the way. They were still there.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked them.
“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that ass,” Mark said.
“Really? There are actually people like you in the world? For reals?”
“Oh, I’m real, sweetheart.”
I jutted out a hip and slapped my palm onto it. “This is unbelievable. I mean, I’ve heard stories, but I just thought you guys were an urban legend. You know, like that one where the couple is making out in the woods and they hear a sound and the guy gets out to check and the girl is all alone and she hears this drip and she looks and it’s the blood of her boyfriend dripping from a tree branch overhead and she screams and gets back in the car and races away and when she gets home the cops find a bloody hook stuck in the door handle.” How the fuck could I remember shit like that and I couldn’t remember my own name? It was so wrong.
My soliloquy didn’t faze him. “You got the legend part right.”
Out of all that, that’s what he came away with. “Can I take your picture? I have to post this on one of those sites that has photos of UFOs and Sasquatch. Otherwise no one will believe me.”
“You done being a smartass?” he asked me. It was a legitimate question.
I thought about it. Shook my head. “Prolly not. Can I get you some more coffee?”
He grunted.
I filled their cups and pretended not to notice the scent of alcohol wafting off them. They must’ve brought their own stash. The Firelight Grill didn’t serve alcohol.
Apparently Mark considered it his civic duty to give me a hard time. A girl could only take so many hateful digs filled with sexual innuendo before she snapped. I doubted Dixie would appreciate a lawsuit brought on by my dumping coffee on her customers’ heads.
After wishing them a good day, I moved on to Cookie’s husband, Bobert. Bobert’s real name was Robert, but the first time he’d come into the café, Cookie grew super nervous as she pointed him out. No idea why.
“His name is Bob … ert,” she’d said, turning away from me.
“Your husband’s name is Bobert?”
She turned back, laughing softly. Nervously. “Robert. I meant to say Robert, though a lot of people on the force called him Bob. I didn’t. Still don’t. Nope, he’s just plain old Robert to me. Except at home. Sometimes I call him Bob at home.”
That was a lot of explanation, but it didn’t allay the disappointment I felt at not knowing someone named Bobert. “Can I call him Bobert?”
A nervous laugh spilled out of her. “You can call him whatever you want. I have a feeling you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger in no time.”
Why would she say that? I decided to ask. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you, Janey Doerr, are a charmer.”
My spine straightened. A charmer. I’d take it.
“You could probably call him Pudding and he’d be fine with it. He’s going to adore you.”
I’d raised my chin in pride. “Really? You think he’ll adore me?�
�� After tilting my head this way and that as he scooted into a booth, I added, “I mean, he is kinda hot.”
Her sweet expression Houdinied into thin air. “I don’t think you two would work out that way.”
“Oh, right, on account of you guys being married and all.”
“That’s one take on it, yes.”
Married people were so possessive.
That was a little over a month ago, and she’d been right. We became friends the moment we met.
“Can I talk to you a minute?” I asked him. As usual, he wore his short brown hair slicked down and kept his mustache thick and well groomed. I couldn’t decide if he was a product of the eighties or just really nerdy.
And, just as Cookie had predicted, he’d taken to me almost as well as she had. I figured he’d felt sorry for the amnesiac the way you do for a carnival attraction. But whatever the reason, he seemed to genuinely like me. There was a shortage of that today.
“Please.” He folded the paper he was reading and gestured for me to sit down.
“Thanks.” After putting the carafe on the next table, I sat across from him.
“What’s up, pumpkin?”
I almost giggled, the term of endearment a welcome respite from the maddening crowd. “I kind of have a situation, and I’m not sure who to talk to about it. I’m hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
“Oh.” He squared his shoulders. “What kind of a situation? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” His concern made me warm and mushy inside. “It’s more of a legal thing, and I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to get Cookie involved, so—”
“A legal thing, how?”
I didn’t know how much to tell him. I couldn’t put Mr. Vandenberg or his family in danger. Then again, they were already in danger. Serious danger, from what I could tell. “Okay, what if, hypothetically, I knew about a man who was possibly being held hostage against his will. Along with his entire family.”
His pulse sped up, but just barely. He’d probably seen it all. Probably had amnesiacs filing preposterous reports all the time. “Do you know of such a person?” he asked, his tone taking on a sharp edge.
The Dirt on Ninth Grave Page 6
