by Hamel, B. B.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a breath. “I think so.”
“You should get some rest.”
“Yeah.” I laugh a little. “I feel silly now.”
“Don’t. I told you this might be dangerous. Are you sure you don’t want to back out?”
“I’m sure,” I say, not really feeling it. “I’m not walking away.”
He nods. “Okay. I’m going to sleep on your couch tonight, if that’s okay.”
I’m surprised by that, but I shouldn’t be. “You’re going to be my bodyguard tonight?”
He grins. “Exactly.”
I smile back and my heart picks up. “Okay,” I say. “I mean, you don’t have to. He’s gone now.”
“I’m here, so I might as well.” He eyes my couch. “Doesn’t look any worse than the bed I’m sleeping on.”
I laugh a little bit and get up. I find him a blanket and a pillow then toss them to him as I come back into the room.
He catches them and puts the pillow behind his head. “Thanks,” he says.
“No, thank you. You really don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.”
I stand there, suddenly very aware that I’m in a skimpy little tank top and some old short shorts, my hair a mess from sleeping. He’s giving me this look that sets my whole body on fire and I’m suddenly afraid of what I just let into my life.
“Well, make yourself at home. I mean, have whatever you want.” I gesture around me.
“And what if what I want is in your room?” he asks softly.
My eyes go wide. “I, uh…”
He grins at me. “Just kidding.”
I nod and laugh a little uncertainly. “Sure, right. Well, good night.”
“Night.” He stretches out on the couch.
I stand there a second, wondering at that comment. Is he saying that he wants to come into my room and sleep with me? But no, I’m just Atticus’s annoying little sister, and he’s still Wyatt Reap. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, not like that. He’s just being a good person right now.
Still, he’s giving me that look, and I know what it means. He’s thinking about what’s on underneath my tank top… and I think he knows it’s nothing.
There’s a hunger in his gaze that shocks me. For a second, I want to tell him to follow me back into my bedroom. He’s so handsome, so intelligent, funny, and smart. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, and he happens to know me really well, or at least he used to. We have a lot of history together.
Instead, I turn and walk quickly away.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know why. This has been such a strange night, starting with the night terror, and now Wyatt sleeping on my couch. He’s going to be out there in the morning, or at least I think he will be. Saturday morning with Wyatt Reap sounds so incredibly… nice.
I get back into bed. I leave my bedroom door open a crack for some reason, maybe as an invitation.
But if he notices, he doesn’t do anything about it. I fall asleep not too long later, and fortunately the night terrors stay away.
8
Wyatt
I should have had her just call the cops. I didn’t need to go rushing over there like some fucking knight in shining armor.
I get up just before the sun rises and sneak out before she wakes up. I head back to the motel and shower there, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing back in Mason working this goddamn murder case.
I spend most of the day at Starbucks in the next town over, using the WiFi and doing some research. I don’t hear from Cora, which is fine by me. I check in with her around noon, just to make sure she’s okay, and she texts back right away.
I flip through Facebook pages, using Atticus’s account. I’m trying to find anything that stands out, any strange connections, any odd messages. His password was in the folder that Cora gave me, so I’m guessing she already went through this process with his account, but it can’t hurt.
It’s a bizarre exercise. There’s not much on his page, since he clearly rarely used Facebook, if ever, but there are so many people I recognize. I don’t have a Facebook anymore, since I think Facebook is creepy as hell, but Atticus clearly added everyone from school at some point. It’s so strange, and soon I find myself skipping through a ton of pictures, totally forgetting about what I’m supposed to be doing.
Hours slip by, and I have to buy a couple of coffees just to keep the baristas from glaring at me. But as I’m passing through some pictures, I spot something odd. I have to go back and stare, before I realize that Atticus is in the background.
I exit the pictures. The guy’s name is Reggie Ryan, a dorky kid I knew back at school. He was the kind of guy that everyone basically ignored, not because they were mean, but just because he was so forgettable. He did good in school and I guess I assumed he moved out of town already, but apparently he’s still in Mason.
And regularly drinking at a bar called Hottie’s.
That gives me an odd idea. I flip through a few more pages, and sure enough, it looks like everyone drinks at that bar. I don’t remember it, but that’s not surprising since I left town before I could legally drink. I grab my phone and call up Cora.
She answers right away. “Hi, Wyatt,” she says.
“Do you know a bar called Hottie’s?”
“Sure,” she says. “Pretty crappy place. Why?”
“Did Atticus used to drink there?”
“I think so,” she says, not sounding sure. “I don’t really go in there.”
“Huh.” I hesitate a second. “In the mood for a drink?”
“Are you asking me out?”
“Absolutely I am,” I say, smiling.
“In that case, come pick me up at seven.”
“See you soon.” I hang up and lean back in my chair.
If people that knew Atticus drink at Hottie’s, then that’s the place we want to check out. It’s probably a dead end, but it’s worth a shot.
I pack up my things and head out, smiling to myself as I imagine taking Cora out on a date.
* * *
Hottie’s is a standalone place tucked at the far corner of downtown Mason, a little squat building that looks like it used to be a Pizza Hut. The neon “H” on the neon sign out front is burned out, so really we’re heading into “ottie’s” right now.
I glance over at Cora. She smiles at me calmly. She looks fucking good, I can’t deny that. Short skirt, hair pulled back, blouse showing off just enough of her perfect breasts. She looks like she’s going out on a date, and I wish I had something nicer to wear. Unfortunately, I’m in the same old clothes, a button-down and jeans, since I don’t have much else to wear.
“Nice place,” Cora says as we step in through the door.
I grin and don’t respond. Hottie’s is far from a nice place, but it’s already crowded. It looks like a chain bar, but without the stale cleanliness. The lights are down low and couples are sitting in booths and at tables, eating dinner and drinking. We head over toward the bar and grab seats toward the end. I order a beer and Cora asks for a whiskey and ginger ale.
I get my drink and glance around the room. The place is a lot like the Great American, but a little seedier. The people here are rougher, louder, a little looser, and it’s still early in the night. Cora seems to be enjoying herself, a little smile on her face as she sips her drink, but I can’t help but feel a little exposed.
I don’t know who’s here from high school. I could know a ton of people here and never even realize it, which makes me vastly uneasy. I haven’t seen these people in years, and I just have to hope that they won’t recognize me.
“How’s being home been for you so far?” Cora asks me.
I glance at my drink. “Not bad,” I say. “Went to a funeral, got roped into a murder investigation. You know, the usual.”
She grins at me. “You’re acting like it’s so bad.”
“I guess not. I get to spend time with you.” I meet her gaze.
She quickly looks away, and I’m pretty sure she’s blushing. “Yeah, lucky you, coming to my house in the middle of the night because I had a nightmare.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Nightmare?”
She sighs. “I had a nightmare, before I called you. I think… I don’t know if what I saw was real.”
I nod and let out a breath. That makes sense, that’s why she hasn’t gotten in touch with me today. She feels weird about last night, probably thinks it wasn’t real.
“Listen, your trashcan really was left open,” I tell her. “Unless you have really smart raccoons or you left it open, someone was in there.”
She bites her lip. “Really? I mean, it couldn’t have been the wind?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not. You didn’t dream that, Cora.”
She looks a little relieved. “I don’t know if I should be happy about that or really disturbed.”
“Both, I think.” I sip my beer and she smiles a little bit. I wish she’d back off this whole thing and let me take over, but I know she won’t do it, so I don’t waste my breath. Besides, I have to go back to Chicago in a day, and if she’s going to keep this up without me, she might as well have some leads to follow.
“It’s weird, being in here,” she says softly after a short silence.
“Why’s that?” I ask her.
“Atticus came here a lot I think. I saw it on Facebook at least, back before things got really bad.”
I nod slowly. “I think a lot of people from our school come here.”
“I recognize a few,” she says. “People I haven’t really talked to in years.”
“But they’re still hanging around, going to the bars.”
“I mean, how many people really get out?” She shrugs, meets my gaze. “Not everyone’s like you.”
“I guess not.” I glance away, realizing that she never got out either. “Anyway, we should probably looks around for people to talk to.”
“Yeah,” she says, letting me change the subject.
I finish my beer, needing the courage, before standing up. I approach a few folks, making friendly conversation, but nobody knows Atticus. Cora mostly just watches me, and I don’t blame her. This is a weird part of the job.
I get through most of the people at the bar before sitting back down with her. An hour passes that way, randomly chatting people up, trying to see if anyone knows anything about Atticus. I ask the bartender, but he’s only been working here for a month, so he’s no help. Cora talks to the people she recognized, but none of them have anything to say. After a couple more drinks, we find ourselves jammed in at the very end of the bar. The early crowd is pretty much gone now, replaced by a harder, rowdier crowd. People are drinking fast and talking loud, and I can feel my discomfort rising.
I start to recognize some things. “You see that?” I say to Cora softly.
“What?” she asks, leaning in toward me, listening over the noise.
“People keep flashing a sign. Watch those guys over there, in the denim vests.” She follows my gaze and sure enough, the guys flash the sign again: hands crossed, fingers slightly splayed, one thumb down.
“Nine fingers,” she whispers.
“Right.” We meet each other’s gaze and I feel that old familiar buzz in the back of my head, the buzz that tells me something just might be wrong about this.
Before we can do anything though, three figures appear behind us through the crowd. I half-turn to check them out, just as one of them leans toward me. I get a whiff of sour breath, beer stink and something else.
“Wyatt Reap, what the fuck are you doing here?”
I lean back to get a look at the guy. He’s tall, about my height, though whip thin and sinewy. His hair is buzzed short and his eyes are a bright, reedy, obsessive blue.
I recognize him right away. “Jaxson,” I say.
He grins. “You remember me?”
Of course I fucking remember him. I didn’t expect to see him tonight, not at all.
He’s flanked by two guys dressed like he is, with hard expressions. Jaxson doesn’t bother introducing them, and I know better than to ask. I can already sense what this is and what’s about to happen, and I wish I didn’t have Cora sitting here.
Jaxson’s eyes flick over to her. “Cora,” he says.
“Jaxson,” she answers curtly.
“What are you doing back in this place?” Jaxson asks me. “What’s it been, like, ten years?”
“Something like that,” I say, though it’s definitely been less. I feel defensive, penned-in with these guys looming over us. I notice the crowd giving us a little more space, and people are tossing glances in our direction.
Jaxson’s face stays friendly, but there’s an edge to him. “You’re a cop now, right?”
I nod. “Chicago PD. Detective Reap.”
His grin gets bigger, less focused. “You always were a fucking prick, Wyatt.” I think he wants this to come off as a joke, and his two flunkies both laugh.
But I don’t smile. “And you always were an asshole.”
He holds my gaze, his face going a little manic, and finally he laughs. I smile and laugh a little with him as the tension dissipates slightly. I was afraid he might actually come at me for a second, but he controlled himself.
“What brings you in here?” he asks me.
“We’ve been asking around about Atticus.”
Jaxson’s eyes go wide. He didn’t expect me to admit it so readily, but there’s no reason to hide it.
Cora glances at me but I don’t look back.
“What do you want to know about that dead asshole?” Jaxson asks. He looks at Cora. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Were you two close?” I ask him. “Recently, I mean.”
He shrugs. “Not really. Atticus had his fucking problems. Liked to hang around me and my boys, you know, but fuck that guy.”
“Sure, I hear you,” I say. “Any of your friends have any reason to kill him?”
Jaxson’s eyes narrow at me. “You fucking suggesting something?”
“Not at all.” I look over at Cora and stand up. Jaxson is forced to step back away from me. “Come on, Cora.”
She stands, looking uncertain. I toss some money onto the bar.
“Where you goin’, Wyatt?” Jaxson asks. “We just got here. I thought we’d party, for old time’s sake.” His grin is disgusting, and I suddenly feel absolutely sure that this guy has something to do with Atticus’s death.
“Unless you want to talk about Atticus, I’m not interested.”
Jaxson rolls his eyes. “All this shit about Atticus. It’s like you’re obsessed. Let him stay dead, you prick.”
I stare back at him. “He was killed.”
“Yeah, he was.” Jaxson steps closer to me, speaks a little lower. I tense, ready, just in case. “And maybe he did something stupid, like ask too many questions.”
I hear the threat. It’s so clumsy, even Cora’s eyes go wide.
“You have a good night, Jaxson,” I say to him.
“Don’t come back here,” he warns. “You hear me?”
I turn and grab Cora’s hand. She stumbles after me as we leave together. Jaxson and his goons don’t follow.
I don’t slow down. We walk fast back to my car, get in, and drive off. Cora’s dead silent until we’re a few blocks away.
“Did he really threaten you?” she asks me. “I mean, you’re a cop.”
“He’s an idiot gang banger,” I say.
“You really think… he’d kill you?” Her eyes are wide, and I can see the fear.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But I didn’t want to risk getting in a fight, not in a room full of his friends.” And especially not with you there, I want to add.
She frowns and looks away. “Do you think they were the ones looking in my garbage?”
“Could be,” I admit. “I really don’t know.”
She bites her lip and doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride.
I hate that this is so difficult for her. I don’t want to drag her through this, force her to listen to all this shit about her brother, deal with petty threats from douchebag gang bangers, but if she wants to be a part of this, that’s what happens.
I drop her off at her apartment. I walk up to her front door with her and she turns to me.
“You know,” I say. “Most dates like this end with a kiss.”
She can’t help but smile. I love making her smile. “Oh yeah?”
I nod. “And then you’ll invite me in, bring me into your bedroom. You’ll pretend it’s so we can listen to some music, or whatever excuse you use, but we both know what you really want.”
“And what’s that?” she asks.
I smirk and tilt her chin up toward me. “You want me to fuck you until you scream.”
She stares into my eyes before looking away, smiling. “Yeah, too bad I only invite you over when strange men go through my trash.”
I grin and step back. “Yeah, too bad. I guess I’ll have to arrange for that.”
She grins at me and opens her door. “Good night, Wyatt.”
“Good night, Cora.”
She head in and shuts the door behind her.
I’m smiling to myself the whole ride back to the motel. I know it’s irrational and foolish, flirting with her like that, but I couldn’t help myself. My adrenaline was running high after that little faceoff with Jaxson, and Cora draws me to her, slowly but surely. I can’t help myself around her.
That’s scary. But goddamn, does it feel good.
9
Cora
I park my car on the gravel driveway and step out, glancing behind me, back toward the street. I don’t know why I do it, but I can feel the paranoia inside of me, just starting to grow.
I think about Wyatt as I walk up toward the little house. I keep seeing the way he looked at me last night, jokingly talking about coming inside with me, but I’m not so sure it was a joke. There’s a tension between us, and it’s always there, no matter what we’re doing. Maybe I want to keep trying to pretend like it’s not an intense attraction, but I honestly don’t know how long that’s going to last.
