“Let me pay for your coffee,” she blurted out before he could completely turn away. He paused, but when he didn’t say anything, she added, “ . . . for the whole week.”
He still didn’t respond, but his intense expression relaxed a little.
She glanced at his scarf. “I can also replace your scarf, if you like. I’ll get you one with, um . . .” She winced. “ . . . less milk stains.”
“Hmm . . .” He tilted his head to one side, then to the other, making a show of considering her offer. To her relief, he dropped his hands; the act made her feel less gangster.
At last he nodded, a half smile appearing on his face. “I think I’ll take you up on that free coffee. But don’t worry about the scarf. I’ve never liked it anyway.” He held up a soppy tassel with his finger and thumb. “In fact, I think you’ve improved it.”
Two new lattes and an extra stack of napkins later, Violet and the guy stood at the door of the café. She put her hand on the door handle, then hesitated. The wind had picked up, tugging with greedy tendrils at the coats, jackets, and scarves of the people who passed by. Clouds covered the sun, blocking any of its efforts to shed some warmth.
She sighed and hugged her chai latte close.
“If you’re not in a hurry to leave,” said the guy, “why don’t we sit for a few minutes and see if the sun is willing to show its face again today?” He gestured to an empty table with two chairs by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Before she could respond, he held up a warning hand. “Just promise that you won’t throw another latte at me.” A corner of his mouth twitched, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Violet couldn’t help smiling, despite the remaining butterflies of embarrassment in her stomach. She took one last look at the dreary view outside. It was going be a good twenty-minute walk back to her dorm, and all she planned to do when she got back was take a nap.
“I promise I won’t bite,” he said.
The butterflies in her stomach fluttered harder. Not butterflies—more like angry pixies buzzing and banging to get out.
He smiled at her.
Her nap could wait.
She nodded and followed him over to the table.
Once settled, he shed his still damp jacket. Violet’s embarrassment flared again at the blotchy latte stains that had bled onto his long-sleeved shirt. He adjusted his scarf, then took a sip of his drink.
Violet dipped her head, hoping her red cheeks weren’t obvious. She took a sip of her latte, relishing the scald and the decadent flavors dancing over her tongue.
“So, I didn’t catch your name.” The guy turned his cup in a slow spin on the table.
“My name?”
Again, a corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, you know. The word that people use to get your attention. I figured if a lovely lady such as yourself has offered to buy me coffee for the rest of the week, I should at least know her name.”
She raised an eyebrow. “‘Lovely lady’? That makes me think of an elderly woman with poodles.”
He chuckled. “All right, how about I change that to ‘beautiful lady’?”
Violet’s cheeks and neck grew warm. She dropped her gaze to the lid of her drink, at the four raised domes labelled White, Capp, Latte, and Choc. The dome for Latte was pressed in, and she circled her thumb in its dip. “It’s Violet.”
“Violet.” His voice was velvet.
She bit her lip.
“So, are you a student?” Violet asked.
He shook his head. “No, thankfully I’m all done with my degree. I now work from home.”
“Oh, really? What do you do?”
“I’m a marketing consultant.”
“That sounds fancy.”
He let out an amused sigh. “Not really. Basically, I assess a business’s marketing strategy and develop a plan that outlines proposals for improvements.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, it’s not a bad gig. I’m my own boss and I get to choose my hours. At the start I didn’t have the luxury of picking and choosing my clients, but I’ve developed a bit of a rep, and I can now take on the ones that interest me.”
“Wow, that sounds awesome.” Earlier, she’d guessed he was about her age, but if he’d finished a degree and was already running his own business, then he had to be at least twenty-three. It made sense; his masculine features easily outpaced the pubescent boys from her high school, who were still growing out of their delicate childhood phase.
“So, Violet, if you don’t mind my asking, why chai?”
Her brow crinkled and she tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, forgive me if I’m wrong, but you don’t strike me as someone who would like . . . chai.”
“Oh.” Violet shrugged. “I don’t know, what’s not to like? It’s like drinking a cup of Christmas. All of those festive flavors—ginger, cloves, vanilla, star anise, and cinnamon. Now, who doesn’t like cinnamon?”
He crinkled up his nose.
Violet’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me you don’t like cinnamon?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Sorry. Not a fan.”
“Come on, man, what about cinnamon doughnuts? Freshly cooked.”
He crinkled his nose again. “I prefer glazed.”
“What? You’re kidding? There’s no way that glazed doughnuts are better than cinnamon ones.”
He laughed and held his hands up. “Okay, okay. How about we agree to disagree? I’ll leave you to your chai preference, and you leave me with my glazed doughnut preference.”
Violet laughed and nodded. “Okay, deal.”
He smiled. “Great.”
The distance between them was short over the tiny table. From this proximity, she could see his eyes were actually deep chocolate with dazzling flecks of gold, which together emitted the golden-brown hue from a distance. His trimmed goatee, now free from foam, matched the sandy blond of his hair, which was streaked with vintage gold and sun-kissed white. His scarf hid his neck and most of his chest, but his gray sleeves were tight enough to showcase the muscles in his shoulders and arms.
She realized he was studying her as she was him. Once again, her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her gaze to her coffee lid.
“So, I don’t suppose I get to know your name?” she asked. “Because, you know, I figured my friends would want to know who the poor unfortunate soul was that got assaulted by my chai.”
He laughed. “Ah, in that case, we can’t let your friends down.”
“No, we can’t,” she said, biting her lip.
“Well, you better tell them my name is Thane.”
Violet walked back into her room, the remainder of her chai latte in hand.
“So, your dad’s pretty cool.” Autumn was sitting in her desk chair, twirling a dreadlock around a finger. Colored thread and beads decorated a few of her locks, and silver bell earrings reflected sparkles of sunlight onto her face. They tinkled when she moved her head.
Gus sat in Violet’s chair, casually swinging from side to side. “Yeah, he’s also kinda . . .” He half squinted an eye, searching for the word. “ . . . intense.”
Violet dropped onto the bay window seat, smiling. She shook her head as she wrapped her arms around a cushion. “Nathan’s not my dad.”
“Oh,” said Gus. “So, what, he’s your uncle? Much older brother?” He gave Violet a conspiratorial grin and waggled his eyebrows. “Is he your sugar daddy?”
Violet scoffed and threw the cushion at him. “He’s just a friend.”
Gus oophed when it hit him in the face. “For the love of doughnuts, would you girls please stop attacking my beautiful face? I’m starting to think you’re jealous of my good looks.”
“If that were true, I would have thrown my chai at you instead.”
Gus laughed. “From now on, I’ll keep an eye out for flying hot beverages.”
Violet laughed and drained the rest of her chai, then set the empty cup down on the windowsill. Chai always triggered her small cluster
of happy memories—most of which involved Lyla.
“So,” said Autumn, “other than carry boxes, what does your friend do?”
“He’s a cop.”
“Oh,” said Autumn at the same time Gus exclaimed, “A cop!”
Gus smacked himself in the forehead and groaned. “Why, oh, why did I have to mention Aunt Skye’s hemp business in front of a cop?”
Autumn rolled her eyes. “It’s not illegal, doofus.”
“Maybe he doesn’t think that. And what about you? That was a great time to bring up your illegal online activities. He’s probably already on his radio requesting backup.”
“Stop making it sound so shady,” Autumn ground out.
“I knew you’d be caught one day!”
“Nathan’s cool,” said Violet. “Trust me, he doesn’t care about stuff like that.”
“Says you.” Gus stabbed an accusatory finger at her. “How do we know you aren’t a plant sent here to report on Autumn’s hacking activities?”
“A what?”
“You know, a plant. It’s cop language for ‘spy.’”
“Umm, actually, I don’t think it is.”
Autumn groaned. “She’s not a spy, Gus.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I just know.”
“How? You think you can just do a little clack-clack”—he motioned typing on a keyboard—“and you know everything?”
Autumn kicked his chair. “Shut up, Gus.”
“I’m serious. You’re going to cross a line one day and find yourself seriously screwed.”
“You’re freaking out over nothing.”
“You’re not freaking out enough!”
Autumn gritted her teeth and let out an exasperated grunt. Gus just glared at her. For a few moments, the two stared each other down.
Violet was starting to think she’d come back too soon.
Then, as if snapping out of a trance, Autumn said, “Anyway, moving on to more important matters”—she held up a flyer like the one Violet had been given earlier—“some guy came by to give us one of these. We’re totally going, right?” When Violet didn’t answer straightaway, she turned to Gus. “Right?”
Gus sighed and threw his hands up. “Sure, let’s go party.”
Autumn squealed. “How ’bout it, Vi?”
“Um . . .” Violet hesitated. When she’d received the flyer earlier, she’d been keen to go try it out. But parties meant people, lots of people, and after her near panic attack, the idea of pasting on a cheerful demeanor for the rest of the night was too overwhelming to think about.
Plus, she’d had her fill of meeting new people for the day. There were sure to be more parties later. This was college, after all.
“You two should go. I think I’m in need of an early night. I want to be fresh and ready for tomorrow.”
Autumn put on a pout.
“You’re kidding, right?” said Gus. “This is college! Now’s the time we get to let our hair down and party till we puke. And seriously, we don’t need to worry about classes until at least the week before exams anyway.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Violet, trying not to cringe. “But I’ve had a long day. I’ll postpone the puking until later.”
Autumn and Gus gave up trying to convince her after a few more attempts. They stuck around for a little longer, then to Violet’s relief, they left to set up Gus’s room, which was in the south wing of the building.
Violet curled up on the window seat and hugged a cushion tight, overcome with exhaustion.
Outside, the final rays of the setting sun tinged the world a warm yellow. Below, she could see the network of paths cutting through the garden from each dormitory. Every path was filling up with students, the majority of them headed in the same direction.
They were all going to the location of the impending party, based on the directions the guy with the flyers had given Violet earlier. That guy probably thought she was a moron. He was probably telling all of his friends right now how much of a freak she was.
She groaned and buried her face in the cushion.
It was a rose tattoo. A stupid, stupid rose!
With a huff she leaned on the windowsill, propping her head up on one hand. Hopefully, tomorrow would be a little better. Although the day hadn’t been all bad.
Cinnamon and spices still lingered on her taste buds, and her thoughts drifted to Lyla. A fierce, familiar ache stabbed through her chest and clutched at her throat, and before she could stop it, a tear rolled down her cheek.
“I’ve done it, Ly. I’ve made it to college.”
5
There You Are
The thumping music, laughter, and conversational chatter drifted out to where he stood in the night’s inky blackness, the dark shadows of various trees and bushy shrubs providing him perfect camouflage.
The first party of the new school year was being held in one of the dorm’s social rooms on the ground level. He angled his head to peer through gaps in the foliage, searching each floor-to-ceiling window. The partygoers had divided themselves into their typical roles: dancers near the DJ stage, seasoned partiers observing a game of beer pong, those who needed alcohol to boost their confidence around the punch bowls and kegs, and the socially awkward scattered throughout the outskirts.
His nose crinkled at the raucous behavior. He’d never understood the appeal of making a fool of oneself under the influence of spirits and narcotics.
He turned his attention to the dorm buildings, scanning the windows until he spotted the one he was looking for. A light inside silhouetted a female student sitting at the bay window, watching the partygoers spilling out onto the lawn below.
He smiled. “Ah, there you are, Violet.”
A mosquito hummed by his ear and landed on the side of his neck. He slapped it, then rubbed the irritated skin, momentarily wrinkling the sharp outline of a crystal scorpion tattoo. He folded his arms and leaned against the brick wall, never once dropping his gaze from the girl in the window.
6
That Chandelier
Nathan wound down the car window, letting the wind caress his face as he scanned the houses and stores that flew by.
“How was Violet’s first week of college?” Jude asked from the driver’s seat of the unmarked police car. He preferred it when she drove; he’d never really gotten the hang of maneuvering these Erathi vehicles.
“Well, she—”
He was interrupted by someone from the precinct reporting a break and enter. Nathan reached for the handheld radio and replied that he and Jude would check it out.
“Great,” said the voice on the other end. “Here’s the address.”
The address was familiar to Nathan, though he couldn’t pin down why. Then again, which address in this town wasn’t familiar?
“No rest for the wicked,” said Nathan as Jude veered the car toward their new destination.
“If they did, we’d be out of a job.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“It would for me. Your kid might be in college, but I’ve still got to get my two kids there. Lord knows my ex-husband isn’t paying enough child support to even cover piano lessons. But back to my original question. How is Violet doing?”
“Not too bad,” he said after a slight pause.
“Uh-oh, what happened?”
He looked at her and shook his head. “How do you do that, Jude?”
She waved a casual hand. “Years on the job. I can always tell when someone is trying to downplay an event.”
Nathan looked out the car window. Since he’d started working with Jude three and a half years ago, he’d gone to extreme lengths to hide his true identity not just from her but from the rest of the town. Suppressing his nature had meant learning to rely on his human abilities to read and predict the emotions and motives of those around him—something that had turned out to be infinitely trickier when it came to raising a teenager.
When Violet had moved in, he’d turned to Jude
for advice on how to deal with not only the female but also the adolescent variety of tenants. Jude’s experience in raising two preteens had been invaluable. Without her, he never would have known the power a bar of chocolate had when consoling moody girls.
He didn’t get too deep into his thoughts before a fist thumped his arm.
“Hello? Spill. What’s up with Violet?”
“Ah, you know. Violet’s tough. She’s been through more than we can imagine.”
Jude hissed out a breath. “That’s an understatement. It still kills me that we couldn’t find Violet and Lyla’s kidnappers. I can’t believe every lead we had was a dead end.” She thumped the steering wheel. “I hate cold cases.”
Nathan shifted in his seat. It was a sure bet he wouldn’t stand a chance against Jude’s wrath if she ever found out how many of their cold cases were a result of his influence.
“Anyway”—Jude glanced in his direction—“you didn’t really answer my question. What’s up with Violet?”
He opened his mouth to reply.
“Nevermind,” she said. “We’re here.”
He’d been too caught up in the conversation with Jude to notice the affluent area of town they’d driven into: the manicured lawns, sculpted hedges and gardens, terraced entrances, and sandstone pillars. Each house competed with the next in grandeur and complexity of design. Locals called this street “millionaire lane.” Politicians and a few minor celebrities owned houses here. With a sinking feeling, Nathan recognized the house next door to where they’d parked as belonging to Mayor Clearwater.
Dread agitated his gut as he realized where they’d stopped.
The Branstone house. Lyla-Rose’s house.
The Branstones had neither political nor celebrity status. Instead, they came from a wealthy family business that spanned several generations. The talk around town was the family owned a few well-known franchises across the country, ranging from jewelry stores to home decor.
Nathan did his best to suppress his apprehension as he and Jude stood at the front double doors. He’d never been inside the Branstone’s home. During the investigation of Lyla’s death, he and Jude had used the “divide and conquer” approach. He’d focused on studying the crime scene and the forensic side of things, taking part in the interviews when they were held at the precinct, but it was Jude who’d done the necessary home visits with Lyla’s family.
Shards of Venus Page 5
