Broad Daylight

by A. M. Wilson

  7

  Reece

  “Any news on your truck?”

  Jonas’s question rubs me the wrong way for five thirty in the morning. I scrub the back of my neck. The motion is becoming a habit with the amount of tension I’ve been carrying around lately.

  “Nothing yet. Just have a few important things to take care of that can’t wait if you guys can make it without me today. Look, I'll put in the overtime needed tomorrow to get it done. You know I always get it done.”

  “I’m not worried about that. The whole crew knows you pitch in twice the amount of effort than you should as the boss. You not being here just means I have to spend my day chasing after these slackers since you aren’t.”

  I crack my first smirk in what feels like days. “Sorry,” I grunt, nearly burning my mouth on my hot coffee.

  “If you need anything, let me know. Don’t care where I settle in for my after-work beer, and I’m happy to park my ass in front of your television if you need the company.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll meet you later tonight.”

  “You’ve got to come at least one night this week.”

  “Deal.”

  Shuffling sounds across the line. “Gotta run. The boys will be waiting for their instructions since you aren’t here to keep their asses in line.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I inject sarcasm into my voice.

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  I set my cell down on the counter, eyeing the cracked screen. One more thing to add to my to-do list for the day.

  With someone possibly watching me, the thought of leaving any task unfinished sets me on edge. I could hardly sleep last night, even after exhausting myself with lifting weights until the calluses on my palms bled. First thing this morning, I called Jonas to call out of work for the day. I knew he wouldn’t take issue with it. We’re business partners, for one. For two, this is the first time I’ve taken a personal day. Except for the week I took off for my dad’s heart attack and then again for Niko and Aislin’s wedding.

  The window glass needs to be repaired first before the alarm company can come by to restore the line. I called them last night to get on their schedule asap. Living in a small town meant they can come by this afternoon without charging me a rush fee. Unfortunately for me, the same can’t be said for the gouge in my truck door. They were all booked up until next week. Even though the image isn’t a safety issue, just seeing the scratches every damn day pisses me off.

  I pocket my cell and grab my coffee cup. Before I run to the hardware store, I need to measure the window and make sure the frame wasn’t damaged. The destruction appeared to be only the glass, but I only want to take care of this once, so I better do it right the first time.

  Entering my basement sends that same creepy feeling slithering down my spine, but I shove it away. This is my house, goddammit. Nobody is going to make me insecure in my own damn house.

  Slivers of light begin to break through the gaps between the boards as the sun rises. I pry off two boards with my hammer, creating enough space to fit a tape measure into the frame. With my tools in reach, I grab the tape measure and jot down the details in an app on my phone. I take my time inspecting every inch of the frame, regarding any blemish with a critical eye. The remainder of the window appears fully intact.

  I sigh at the black print dust coating the edges of the frame. As I turn around, I spot more on the phone and a few spots on the wall. I better add a heavy-duty cleaning solution to my list. I’ve heard this shit is no joke to get off. With that in mind, I drain the rest of my coffee and return upstairs to get ready. I may have called off work, but there’s still a lot to get done today.

  The young clerk helping me doesn’t look old enough to be working the day shift. It doesn’t help my mood that when I tried to wave him off, he continued to follow me like a puppy dog, and I don’t have it in me to put in the effort to make him go away. I may be an ass at times, but I don’t make a habit of cussing out teenagers. For all I know, the poor kid doesn’t have a dad, and maybe he’s using this job to learn something.

  I let him show me where the cleaning supplies are, and now I’m pretending I don’t see the giant overhead sign that says windows as he leads me to the panes of glass.

  “What do you need a window for?”

  “Replacement.” I might be trying not to be an ass, but that doesn’t mean I’m particularly chatty this early in the morning.

  “You’re going to replace the whole window by yourself? Usually, we hire someone out to take care of that.”

  “I build houses for a living, kid. And I just need to replace the glass.”

  “Oh. Did a neighbor kid break it? I once threw a rock and broke my neighbor’s window. My mom made me pay for it.”

  The remorse in his voice earns a chuckle from me. He’ll probably remember that incident for the rest of his life. I spot what I need and clap him on the shoulder as I pass.

  “Something like that. Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem.”

  I tug the small cart behind me as I browse the sizes. The window is a standard egress, so I’m hoping it’s in stock and not something I need to special order. I really want this taken care of today without having to reschedule the alarm company.

  Just as I spot what I need, a voice sounds behind me.

  “Broken window, huh? Stroke of bad luck or pesky kids?”

  My neck muscles constrict at the sound. I jerk my head around so fast I give myself a crick. Dani watches me with slitted eyes as I cup the ache. I can only scan her face, and the ire burning there sends a pang through my chest.

  “A bit of both,” I finally mutter.

  Her head cocks. “I’d say nice running into you, but that would be a lie.”

  “You said that the last time we saw each other.”

  She shrugs without remarking further.

  I release the sore spot. I’m going to have to apply some analgesic cream when I get home. The perks of getting old. Speaking of old, some buried part of me wants to tease her for forgetting she already said those words to me. To poke fun. Too bad that part of us has been dead for twenty years.

  “Then why say anything at all?”

  “We’re bound to run into each other. Clearly.” The last word comes out as if she’s speaking to an idiot.

  I’m not in the mood to play these games with her. In response, I give her my back and select the pane of glass I need.

  “You could try not saying anything at all.”

  “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

  As I move to place my item in my cart, I glance at her again. Her pretty face still smolders, but I can’t tell if only hate resides there. Her words carry almost a teasing lilt, but her posture screams don’t come near!

  “I wouldn’t guess you were the type to have fun.”

  She rears back into a stiff posture. “I have fun all the time.”

  “I’m sure you do, magnet.” Fuck. I wave my hand between us. “I didn’t mean to say that. It’s been a morning. I’m getting glass because someone broke into my house. Just forget I said it.” My rambling appears to draw her attention away from the old, endearing nickname I used to use when we were together and back to the present as her features morph from irritated to something akin to concern.

  “Someone broke into your house? Did you report it?”

  I grip the handle of the cart with both hands. The torn skin from last night burns under the pressure.

  “I did.”

  “That’s surprising.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I fight like hell not to glance down at the movement.

  “Why?”

  She snorts. “Reece James asking for help—hell, asking for anything? That’s rich. Must have really scared you.”

  My temper flares at her blatantly laughing in my face. “You’d find that funny, wouldn’t you? Me being frightened is amusing?”

  She holds her stance, but her smirk dips some as if in preparation for what’s to c
ome.

  “Tell me what’s more amusing. The thought of me scared or the thought of me dead?” My low tone slithers between us like a black cloud and punctuates the whispered words.

  All traces of amusement cease. She lifts her hand as if to reach out and touch me but drops it midway between us. “I didn’t mean—”

  I study my boots and wave her off. “No, I get it. You don’t have to act pleased to run into me. I did wrong by you, and I know that.” I cut a glance back to her face. “I’ll make you a deal. Next time, you don’t say anything and neither will I, and we can go about our lives without this bullshit getting in the way.”

  She doesn’t get the chance to reply as I stalk off with my cart in tow.

  Back at home, hours pass without much time to think. I throw myself into repairing the window. Once that’s finished, I take up my shelving project while I wait for the alarm company to show up. I nearly finished the second set of shelves before the tech arrives, and I leave him to it to grab myself a bite to eat since I worked straight through lunch.

  The fact I’m trying to work myself into not thinking about Dani isn’t lost on me. Downtime, even for a quick bite to eat in my kitchen, is all it takes for my mind to conjure her image and voice in my head. To replay yet another unpleasant run-in on an endless loop.

  I fucked up calling her magnet. The name began as a joke before we’d even started dating. Hell, we were barely friends. It was like suddenly, this beautiful girl kept showing up wherever I was. I started noticing her in the halls and in classes I didn’t know we had together. Then I’d see her in a hot cheerleading uniform while I practiced football. It took a while, but I finally worked up the courage to ask her why she was following me.

  “I’m not following you,” she replied and bit her lower lip, drawing my attention there.

  “You seem to keep appearing wherever I am, like a magnet.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me with a smirk. “Maybe I am attracted to you.”

  Without giving me a chance to respond, not that I could because I was busy fighting the tent in my jeans, she took off.

  Of course, the next time I saw her, rather than pretend she wasn’t there, I shouted out, “Hey, magnet!”

  She responded with a cute little wave and left her friends to come say hi. From there, the name stuck.

  Using it in the middle of an aisle at a hardware store when she wasn’t pleased to see me was a royal fuckup. One I don’t know how I managed to make, considering I haven’t thought of that name in two decades. I want to blame the stress of the past week, but really, the only person to blame is myself.

  And Dani.

  This is not what I had in mind for today. I’d forgotten all about her until this morning.

  Everything else going on pushed her from my mind until she made herself known again. Maybe the way I left things today will send enough of a message to steer clear of one another. After the way things ended all those years ago, it’s clear being friendly doesn’t come easily between us.

  And probably never will.

  The technician interrupts when he’s finished, and I’m surprised to see it’s already after three o’clock. I follow him out, arming the alarm, and head back into town to fix my phone screen. After that, I pick up two large pizzas and stop at the liquor store for a fresh case of beer in preparation of Jonas stopping by. I thought I’d be up for meeting him out tonight, but I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Once I’m home, I text him that dinner and drinks are on me and plant my ass in my recliner in front of the TV.

  Fifteen minutes later, a knock on my door signals his arrival. I open it to find he’s not alone.

  “Thank God you only brought one other person. I’d go broke trying to feed the entire crew.”

  Parker lifts his chin in greeting as he trails Jonas.

  Jonas claps me on the shoulder as he passes, probably heading straight to my fridge. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Not without a heads-up at least.”

  “Plenty of pizza and beer for the three of us.” As I shut the door, I punch in the code.

  Jonas takes notice. “Now you’ve got to tell me what’s up. Arming the alarm with three big dudes in the house?”

  I retreat back to my recliner before I answer. I’m tired and want to sit down for the questions. A quick swig of beer cools my dry throat. “Someone broke in last night through the basement window. Don’t know if it was before I got home or while I was here, but I’m not taking any chances until we know more.”

  “Smart,” Parker adds as he takes a slice.

  “Can’t be too careful.” Jonas takes a drink of his beer and settles on my couch. “Any idea who it might be?”

  I relay my thoughts over the past few days. Everything logical still wants to blame some rowdy kids, but the escalation says otherwise. As I talk, I put two and two together and realize the lightning bolt shape has been sent to me twice. First the truck and then the picture, almost like a sign. I make a mental note to text Tavers this information in case he missed it as well.

  I’m careful not to share many more details other than what I’ve already shared about the garbage and the damage to my truck. I keep most of the information about the package to myself.

  “Definitely could be kids. I was an asshole as a teen,” Parker says.

  “You’re still an asshole, Park,” Jonas adds, and I raise a beer in agreement.

  “I mean it. I TP’d houses and used shaving cream on cars, but as I got older, things escalated. We’d drive around and hit mailboxes with baseball bats and would rummage through unlocked cars at night.”

  “Wow, you really were an asshole,” I mutter.

  He shrugs and takes a bite of pizza. “I’m just saying. The risk and pushing the boundaries of getting caught are normal kids’ stuff. Some take it further than others, but I turned out to be a decent human being in the end.”

  “The jury’s still out on that,” Jonas replies.

  “Fuck you, man. You weren’t a saint.”

  Jonas cracks a sly grin. “There’s a long list of women who’d attest to that.” He jerks his head in my direction. “This guy’s the saint.”

  I tip my beer at them both. “I’m staying out of this conversation. Pick on me when my life isn’t a fucking mess.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” Jonas vows.

  I don’t doubt for a second he means it.

  8

  Dani

  I rap my knuckles on the captain’s door, and once he gives the go-ahead, I poke my head in. “You wanted to see me?” My eyes briefly land on Tavers sitting on one of the chairs on the other side of the big desk.

  “Come in, Dani,” Captain Morgan says, distractedly gesturing with his hand to the vacant chair beside Tavers.

  Closing the door behind me, I take the seat and cross one leg over the other. Captain shuffles papers around on his desk until he finds what he’s looking for. It’s only then he looks up at me.

  I’ve only been back in my hometown for about a month. The first couple of weeks, I was given time off to settle in. This is only my second week here at Westbridge PD.

  I hate moving. I hate even more being back in Westbridge. But with Mom being sick and my dad not doing too well either, it was time. My sister, Madison, who lost her husband a couple of years ago, has two young kids, so I didn’t want to put any more stress on her.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard talk about Tavers taking some time off,” Captain says, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Yes.” I look at Tavers. “I’ve been meaning to say something. I’m sorry about your wife. I hope things work out for her.”

  He grunts out a thanks.

  I’ve known Tavers since childhood. He and Reece’s brother, Niko, were close friends growing up. Reece and I, being several years older than Niko and Tavers, never hung out with them, but Tavers was around sometimes when I was at their house with Reece. There was also a neighbor girl named Aislin. She and Niko were really close. She disappeared not too long before R
eece and I broke up. I remember reading about her being found a couple of years ago. Apparently, she had been kidnapped when they were kids and held captive by a sick madman for all of those years. I can’t imagine the horrors she went through and the pain Niko must have felt when he discovered what happened to her.

  Captain interrupts my inner musings again when he says, “With Tavers taking some time off, I’m divvying up his cases to the other detectives.” He holds up a folder. “This one is yours.”

  He tosses it on the desk in front of me, and I reach out to grab it. I zero in on the name on the top left corner, and my eyes dart to Tavers. Through the stress on his face from what he’s dealing with at home, I notice a curious light in his eyes as he waits for my reaction to the case file in my hands. I don’t see the captain giving me Reece’s case if he knew we had a past, so it makes me wonder why Tavers didn’t say anything.

  Despite my brain yelling at me to hand the folder back to the captain, my curiosity gets the better of me. I may despise the man who broke my heart twenty years ago, but I’m curious to know more about the break-in he talked about yesterday in the hardware store. I tell myself it’s the detective in me, but I know deep down that it’s more than that. I hate the man, but I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him.

  There’s not much inside once I flip the file open. There’s a report stating Detective Tavers received a phone call from Niko James claiming a break-in at Reece’s house. The two brothers were on the phone when they heard someone breathing on the line. By the time Tavers made it to the house, the perpetrator was gone. The perp disabled the alarm on the window in the basement and busted the glass to gain entry. No fingerprints were found.

  There are also several pictures. Some of them are of scratch marks on the side of Reece’s truck in the shape of a lightning bolt. A few are of a package he received on his front porch containing old food, trash, and another smaller box. Another picture catches my eye. It’s an image of Reece standing outside of Rook’s. His face is scratched out with the same lightning bolt. I look at that image longer than the others. If memory serves, he was wearing the same clothes the night I saw him at the bar. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his head is tipped down as if he’s deep in thought. For some odd reason, seeing the slump of his shoulders and knowing it was because of our recent confrontation unsettles something inside my stomach.