by Aimee Hix
I looked up into his smiling face. “Sorry, Matt. You know how difficult I’ve always been. I grew up just to spite you.”
He laughed and released me. “No joke, kid. You turned into a beautiful woman. I see the dumbass finally wised up.” His eyes slid over to Seth standing at the bar chatting with Pam, Matt’s wife.
Crap. Had Seth said something to them? He told me about the reopening, but I’d hung up shortly after. It’s not like we arrived together.
“No, we’re not … it’s not like that. I actually haven’t seen him since Michael’s memorial service.” My face flushed hot and pink from having to bring up a subject I knew was going to garner a condolence.
Matt looked down. “Pam and I were heartbroken when we read that he’d been killed.”
I nodded, swallowing down the hard lump that I knew contained all the tears I’d refused to shed since the day the Colonel had called my dad with the news.
Again, he looked over at Seth. “And you two never dated? I mean, you and Michael, no way, but … ”
I shook my head. Oh, hell no, I was not about to admit that a few swigs of tequila and two hours of repressing a nervous breakdown I richly deserved was all it took before I humiliated myself by hopping into bed with Seth. That was going to my grave if I had any say in the matter.
The flush in my cheeks ramped up and I struggled out of my leather jacket. Matt took it from me and walked over to Pam and Seth. To avoid staring at the group and allow myself some time to regain my composure, I glanced around the restaurant. It was bigger than the old location with more separation between the different kinds of tables. You could still eat and play if you wanted, but the tables ringing the perimeter of the pool room were bar-style—smaller and taller, so they didn’t interfere with a shot, always a problem in the old place. All the old art, if you could call it that, was up on the walls.
I ambled over to one grouping of photos and was gutted to see Michael’s beaming face. It was a shot from the final pool tournament before the original location had closed. I knew the exact reason he was smiling so brightly, because I had taken the picture. Michael was holding a trophy. Even though I couldn’t read the placard, I knew it said Worst Player. That trophy was currently sitting on the shelf in my closet.
I hadn’t realized I was shaking until a warm hand closed on my hip. The scent of cold air and soap told me it was Seth. His thumb gently caressed the bare skin where the edge of my shirt had ridden up over the waistband of my jeans. Of course it was Seth. He was the only person who dared to walk right past all of my boundaries. He draped his other arm around me and held me loosely. I stiffened momentarily then leaned back into his chest, eyes still on the photo. It managed to be comforting and make me uneasy at the same time.
The three of us were a past that was hard to forget, no matter how much I wanted to. Memories that made me cry as easily as they made me laugh. Sometimes at the same time. A different lifetime. Not for the first time, I felt older than I should. I could only imagine how Seth felt, comforting me over the death of the brother he’d spent a lifetime watching over and protecting.
I wasn’t much of a hugger, never had been. Michael wasn’t either and had wriggled out of the surprisingly long embrace I gave him before he left for Afghanistan. I would give anything and everything to go back in time and extend that last hug. Seth, though, had always been much more comfortable with touch. His body wasn’t much like Michael’s either. Seth was all solid muscle and coiled energy where Michael had been lanky. Michael had been non-threatening, calming, a still pool. Seth’s emotions poured off him and being near him was like being sucked into a riptide. Part of me wanted to get dragged under and buffeted around, helpless. I wanted to melt into him and let him take over. The rest of me knew how dangerous that would be and had worked hard to keep a certain wall between us. I’d let it come down just for one night after Michael’s death, and now I had to rebuild it. To stay sane enough to have dinner with him, at least.
I gently, casually, pushed away from Seth’s chest, and he dropped his hands. I gave myself another moment before I turned to look at him. We stared at one another longer than was probably appropriate until I chickened out and broke eye contact. He seemed content to stand there silently so I looked him over, taking in his well-used work boots, worn but clean jeans, and chambray shirt. He was scruffy but still annoyingly handsome. Not an elegant bone in his well-toned body and girls had always flocked to him. At least the ones that liked the manual labor, rough hands but gentle eyes type. And who didn’t, really?
For the second time that night, I willed the blood to stop rushing to my cheeks. And other body parts. Not that it would have helped. Years of evolution has ensured that the male of the species drew that kind of reaction and even my own considerable ability to mask my feelings couldn’t override biology. Deep cleansing breaths and I could, perhaps, control the traitorous swirl of emotions running through me. Emotions were the easy part; memories and hormones had a mind of their own.
He broke into a smile that bordered on his usual arrogant smirk and I had to resist the urge to smack him. He’d done a nice thing letting me know about Matt’s reopening; the least I could do was not assault him. To be safe, I shoved my hands in my back pockets. He mimicked me, a habit he didn’t notice but I had, years ago. It wasn’t his only tell but it was the biggest. He was nervous too. Good.
Matt’s voice boomed across the music and chattering guests. “Cue Pizza for Willa.”
I rushed over to the window to grab the tray with the pizza and two icy bottles of Mexican soda. “You remembered, Matt.”
“I remembered the pizza but Dumbass brought the soda. Maybe he’s not so stupid after all.”
His habit of referring to Seth as Dumbass always amused me. Matt adored Seth, but it was in spite of Seth’s efforts to make himself eminently likeable. Seth looked like a bruiser but he had a sophisticated mind and he knew how to get most people to react the way he wanted. The varsity cheerleading squad and the girls’ volleyball team included. He saved his genuine self for very few people.
I saw Seth had set up at one of the bar-style tables in the back and brought the tray over, sliding it onto the tabletop.
“Thanks for the sodas, Ace. It was a rare nice thing for you to do for me,” I said, jumping straight into the verbal abuse that had served me well with Seth for most of our lives.
He grabbed his own and took a swig. “I thought I was pretty nice to you the last time I saw you, darlin’. You seemed pretty pleased, anyway.”
And there it was. Tears prickled on the backs of my eyes and I blinked them down. All I wanted to do was forget about that night. I’d known the moment I kissed him it was going to be a mistake, I just hadn’t cared. To Seth it was a joke. I wasn’t anyone special, just one more on the list.
“Impressive. You broke your own record for the fastest jackass comment, Seth.”
The smile never left his face. “Sorry, sorry. You started it.”
We were the only people in the back room, the others preferring to eat and reminisce in the dining room proper, but I made sure to keep my voice low. “Look, we were both in a bad place, missing Michael. It happened.” I shrugged but my voice was shaky. That day was still too raw in my heart. That night? I couldn’t even begin to think about processing that on a level other than mistakes were made and move it along, folks, nothing to see here.
“I’m sorry, Willa. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The look on his face was one I usually enjoyed seeing; the one where he let the girl du jour down easy. Getting it was very different from watching it happen to someone else. I hadn’t realized how humiliating it was.
“You didn’t hurt me, Seth.” It was the truth. I had hurt me. Michael’s death had hurt me. “I was hurting before I walked in that room. Nothing you did—nothing we did—made it worse. There wasn’t a worse to get to.”
Seth took a half step around the ta
ble and wrapped his hand around my arm. “No, I mean it. I should have known better. I should have been better. That’s on me.”
I eased my arm out of his grip and brushed an imaginary hair out of my eye. “So it’s decided. We chalk it up to the tequila and we’re just friends again.”
He gave me a surprised smile. “You’ll never be just a friend, Will.”
I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do.
He picked up the bottle. It was surprisingly sexy, the way he eyed me the whole time he put the bottle to his mouth, closing his lips around the rim slowly, and took a long swallow. He never took his eyes off mine even as he put the bottle back down on the table. My libido threatened to turn lava hot as I watched him lick the last of the soda off his lip, suddenly remembering how his lips felt on mine. That was all it took. My brain told me it was a mistake and my body was just not buying it.
“Just soda tonight, Sunshine. How about we give it another shot?”
Were we joking again? My hormones didn’t think so. He was not looking at me like he was joking. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to climb into his lap and press into him. I wanted to crawl into a bed with him and stay for a week, let him make me forget about everything. Even though it was the worst idea.
“I don’t think so, Seth.” I sounded nowhere near normal. Even my voice was on board with a sequel to Willa and Seth Get Naked and Sweaty. My brain was only the body part being reasonable. Thank god my brain was in charge tonight. For a change. “It’s been a weird day and I’m not up for it getting any weirder, thanks.” That was better. I sounded less like I wanted to climb him like a tree and more like I had a little dignity.
We ate in silence. Blessed, sweet silence. But he kept looking at me.
Seth broke the silence when he’d finished his third piece of pizza. “You know that was a joke, right?”
Thankfully, I was still chewing so I could just nod. I didn’t think he’d been kidding. It hadn’t sounded like he’d been kidding. The look in his eyes didn’t seem like he’d been kidding. I wasn’t the best judge since all I could think about was him not kidding and how that would go. Naked was how that would go.
Bad, Willa. Stop remembering him naked.
“You said you had a weird day?”
“If you consider finding a dead body weird.”
He froze, bottle of soda halfway to his mouth. “What?”
I nodded. “Dead guy, dead serious.”
“What happened? Are you okay?” He reached over and grabbed my hand. A normal action under the circumstances, but since I didn’t know where we stood I slid mine out from underneath and tried to play it off by swiping the napkin across my mouth.
“Long story short, I went to help the Horowitzes’ granddaughter … you remember them? Anyway, she needed to move fast and when I got to her place I found the boyfriend shot. As for being okay … yeah … I mean, I wasn’t there when it went down.”
He shook his head. “I meant emotionally.”
I’d known what he meant. I just hadn’t wanted to answer it. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t been for a long time.
“I’m … fine. I’m always fine, Seth. You know that.”
Chapter
4
Many hours later I lay in bed thinking over the previous night. I still hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out what was going on with Seth. I’d had plenty of time to mull it over too since I hadn’t gotten even a decent night’s sleep going on five months.
I stretched and was getting up when my phone beeped.
Last night was fun, Sunshine. I’ve missed hanging out with you.
Anxiety churned in my stomach, sour and hot. I wasn’t ready for round two with Seth. The previous evening had taken all my mental energy.
I tried to put him to the back of my mind while I showered and almost succeeded. It had been good to see him again. Playing pool and joking around had been like old times. It had even been almost fun despite the awkwardness. He’d been oddly flirty with me. I’d spent a few hours chewing on that too. As the sky lightened from dark blue to gray, I’d almost decided that he just wanted to do what he thought Michael would have wanted—be friends even without Michael as a buffer and connector. Almost.
Beep. Lunch?
I turned the phone face down on the nightstand. Avoidance was an art form. I would answer him but not until it was too late. I had things to do and I needed more time to figure out just what was going on with him and what I wanted to be going on with him.
First stop was the mall. Susan had told me that Violet worked at an accessories store there. The cops would have already done their interviews to try to trace Violet’s movements around the time of Reagan’s murder, so I could be nosy without getting in any trouble. I was still just shadowing the cops for the investigative experience.
I shoved my phone in my jacket pocket and headed out.
There was tons of parking since it was a weekday and the mall was just opening. I looked over the giant You Are Here map. How were there so many accessories stores? Who needed that many cheap bracelets?
The store where Violet worked looked like a modern candy box. All sleek white molded plastic walls and fairy lights in bright colors. Katy Perry blasted out at a soothing, window-rattling level. When I stepped over the threshold, it cranked down several hundred decibels.
“Sorry. The night crew leaves the music on loud when they close up. Can I help you find anything?”
The offer was made in a bland drawl that matched the look on the girl’s face. She leaned dispiritedly on the glass case filled with sparkly cell phone covers. I had no doubt I would have lost my mind if I’d had to work there. Bored seemed the best-case scenario.
I walked over to the counter as she eyed me suspiciously. Fair enough. I didn’t look like her standard customer.
“I was hoping to ask you some questions about Violet Horowitz.”
She straightened up and smoothed down her smock. I tried very hard not to wonder about why she’d need a smock to sell five-earring sets for twenty-five dollars, each set seven dollars if purchased singly.
“They said they might come back with more questions. The cops, I mean. You, I guess,” she said. She was nervous. That worked for me.
I nodded. They might come back with more questions.
“I’d like to just ignore your statement from yesterday, if you don’t mind. Sometimes it helps you remember more if we start fresh.”
It would also help me because I didn’t have her statement from yesterday.
“And there’s no need to be nervous. Just think of this as a friendly chat.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Mine did. Interrogations were fun and no statement was designed to make people feel more nervous than telling them not to be.
I flipped open my notebook and dropped my smile. “Your full name again.”
“Um, Angela Martin. Celeste. Sorry, Angela Celeste Martin.”
“Great. So how did you meet Violet Horowitz, Miss Martin?”
“Oh, um, we met at Killian’s.”
Killian’s was notorious as a rough bar. I’d been once in college. That had been enough. A raised eyebrow was all it took for Angela to flush.
“It’s gotten a lot better than it was,” she said.
It would have had to since it couldn’t have gotten worse. I’d seen enough inter-department briefs on the latest fight or parking lot
stabbing. That substation wasn’t the most popular, partly because of Killian’s.
“Violet approach you or … ?”
Angela flushed deeper. “We met in the bathroom. There was a fight. Um, a televised MMA thing with a cover and the crowd was pretty packed.”
So Killian’s hadn’t gotten better so much as they’d learned to charge more for the damage. That certainly explained how it managed to stay open. Squeaky wheels got g
reased.
“So you two bonded over not enjoying grown men beating the stuffing out of each other?” My tone was conspiratorial.
“The testosterone was a little high. We just needed a break. My boyfriend is a bartender there. He’s the reason she met Joe, actually.”
Wow. We got there a lot faster than I had hoped. Angela’s eyes got wide.
“I can’t believe Joe’s dead. He wasn’t the best boyfriend but he really loved Violet.”
I wasn’t the best judge of it but I figured abuse was an automatic disqualifier from the title. As for love, the bruises negated that too. Sure, that was a matter of opinion but it was a pretty widely shared one.
“And your boyfriend’s name?”
“Why do you need that?” Angela frowned.
What was that about? I scanned her face again more carefully. I didn’t see any evidence of abuse, not even well-covered, but some men were craftier than Joe Reagan and made sure no one saw the bruises. Then again, just because the boyfriend knew Reagan didn’t mean he was an abuser too. It just made it more likely. That whole birds of a feather cliché.
“Well, he knew Joe and hooked him up with Violet, so naturally that’s an avenue we’d like to explore.”
We meaning me, myself, and I.
“Oh, he didn’t know Joe exactly. He just introduced them at the bar. Like, literally, introduced them as the winners of the raffle.”
Killian’s was holding raffles? For what? Ice packs for after you got stomped for looking at some meathead wrong? Gift cards for the emergency room? Free physical therapy?
“Still, as the bartender there that night he might have some information that could be—”
“He’s not really good with cops. He’s an ex-con.”
Of course he was. At least I only chose emotional bad boys so I felt justified in being judgmental.
“I promise I’ll be gentle with him,” I said.
“Dave Barker.”
I scribbled some detailed, time-consuming nonsense to keep her off-balance. It was a cheap trick but one that was effective. In police notes you’re not allowed to delete anything; if you have to cross something out, you’re allowed one strikethrough. Your notebook can always be called as admissible evidence. But I wasn’t a cop anymore and my notes were protected under client privilege. Or they would be if I had a client. Or a license. Which reminded me I needed to get out of the store before a real cop caught me. Like, god forbid, Boyd.
