Sympathy For The Devil

by King, Asha

  He picked up some meal staples in the produce section, trying to keep in mind that food from there would go bad in a few days and he shouldn’t overdo it, but the thought of another night of TV dinners had him wanting to overindulge. Next he swung around toward bakery section, where scents of freshly baked bread filled the air. A loaf of Italian with dinner would be a nice change from the processed crap he’d been eating.

  The paper package covering the loaf crackled under his grip. He put one in the basket, paused and thought for a moment, then grabbed some ciabatta buns as well, and rounded the tall skid of breads.

  He stopped abruptly as he nearly ran into someone, lips parted to apologize.

  Then his eyes narrowed on Natasha.

  He still didn’t have a last name. Glanced through the paper but didn’t see her included in any of the by-lines, and it wasn’t like anyone in town would tell him. Maybe Mark but then Mark had been friends with Chelsea and there was just too much baggage hanging in the air there.

  He’d be a liar if he pretended she hadn’t been on his mind since that last encounter, though he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it to her.

  Her dark brown eyes had widened as she recognized him and her mouth hung open. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t following you, I swear.”

  His lips twisted grimly. “People who aren’t following other people don’t normally need to announce that.”

  “I was about to leave and I realized I forgot bread.” She held up her basket, which was full with things that had to have come from the other end of the store, milk and cheese on top.

  He stared down at her, wondered why she hadn’t made a hasty exit yet, but still she gazed up at him with wide eyes. Her black curls were swept up, tendrils randomly springing down to frame her face and graze her neck. His hands itched to brush them back from her eyes, trail his fingers down her throat.

  Get the hell a hold of yourself, you fucking idiot. She was a reporter, had been spying on him. She was just like everyone else in town. Still, he’d be lying if he said she hadn’t been on his mind, entering unbidden, thoughts filled with ideas of what could’ve been. It wasn’t helping at all that her light brown skin darkened with a deep blush on her cheeks, rushing down her neck.

  “I’m sorry about the other night,” she said softly. Sincerely. Or maybe he just got stupid for a pretty face.

  He resisted the urge to reassure her or accept the apology. “Did you know who I was in the hardware store? Outside the Bar & Grill?”

  Natasha shook her head, curls dancing. “No.”

  So that was real, how she’d looked at him then. Maybe.

  “Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get the story you were clearly after.” He stepped past her, his steps heavy and angry.

  “It wasn’t like that.” She shuffled across the floor after him, even as his long strides took him well away from the bakery section and toward the deli. “I wasn’t going to do a horrible story on you like Harry.”

  He snorted, shook his head. “One with rainbows and puppies, then?”

  “And unicorns skipping through fields of daisies.” She darted in front of him, blocking his path with her arms raised and palms up, fingers splayed. “Look. I swear, I was just trying to get to know you. And eventually hear your side of things. No sneaky stories.”

  He tipped his head down, his eyes locked on hers. Remembered how scared she’d looked when he had her trapped against the car. Hated himself a little for it, still, but that didn’t mean he’d cut her any slack now out of guilt. “You wouldn’t have lied if that was the case.”

  “I didn’t meant to—”

  “I asked you if you knew who I was. A ‘yes, but I don’t care’ would have sufficed.”

  “Would you have left?”

  He glared at her. Said nothing.

  “See?”

  Devin shook his head and stomped around her again. The grocery list he’d been going over on the drive over was gone from his mind, so he randomly grabbed some lunch meat, deli cheese, and made a left down the pasta aisle.

  She was still following him—he could feel it, right in his bones, like she’d crawled under his skin and settled there. Like a tick. She’s a pest. Get rid of her. But intentionally scaring her apparently hadn’t worked before.

  “Is it fun stalking the killer while he’s trying to be left alone?” he said in a low voice as he scanned the shelf of dry pasta, seeing the labels without really reading them and trying not to be aware of her in his peripheral vision.

  “Are you suddenly admitting to committing a double homicide?”

  “Hasn’t mattered yet whether I admit something or not.” Screw it, he didn’t care what he bought, just blindly grabbed a package of some sort of noodles, then moved onto the canned goods. Tomato paste, canned tomatoes.

  “I’m not all bad, you know,” she said.

  “Now that’s a pity—I am.” He wasn’t sure what spices he had back at the old house but they’d be useless now, so he made that aisle his next destination.

  “I am sorry,” she called after him.

  He ignored her.

  Natasha didn’t follow him to the next aisle. Relief was mixed with a tinge of disappointment; having her to verbally spar with at least kept his mind from other things, her presence a pleasant distraction if not also a painful one. But he managed to get the rest of his groceries without any sign of her, went to the checkout line to pay for them, and headed out of the store.

  “—not asking you to drive me to the damn city, I just want to go home to Stirling Falls.” Her voice struck just as he stepped outside, somewhere in the opposite direction of his truck. “How can that take an hour to get out here? How damn busy can you possibly be on a Wednesday afternoon?”

  The heat was thick, air difficult to breath. Devin tipped his head down, the hat keeping away some of the sun, and tried not to eavesdrop.

  “No, you know what? Screw you Jimmy! I can guess why you’re so busy and I bet your wife would like to know too!”

  He headed for his truck, dropped the bag of groceries in the back, and then climbed in the front. He sat with the door open for a moment, turning on the engine and blaring the air conditioning—even after just a few minutes in the store, the July sun had turned his truck into an oven.

  Against his better judgment, he glanced up across the parking lot. Natasha paced along the front of the store in the partial shade from the lip of the roof, head down and eyes on her phone where she punched in another number. A glance around the parking lot revealed no vehicles he recognized. So none of them were hers. Who the hell goes to a grocery store with no way to get back? Especially with the distance town was from here.

  He indulged for a moment, let his gaze trail over her. His heart beat hard, and the heat rushing through his body wasn’t just from the sun. The cold air blowing from the dashboard did nothing to cool him.

  Just drive away. Not your problem. He slammed the door, breathed in the chilled air for a moment in the hopes of clearing his head. Still she paced, back and forth, hair bobbing. The groceries in bags leaning against the front of the store were likely getting warm.

  Only two cab companies in the area—damn near everyone had at least one vehicle if not two. There was no getting anywhere on foot. But the way she frowned, with her brows furrowed over her expressive eyes, and full lips pulled into a pout, he suspected neither was coming to get her any time soon.

  Drive. Away. He switched out of park and pulled the truck out. Away, away, away...

  Devin braked with the passenger side next to her.

  Natasha looked up. Rightfully wary.

  He powered down the window beside her and leaned across the seat. “I’ll drive you back to town.”

  She only hesitated a moment before rushing back to get her grocery bags, and he couldn’t very well accuse her of playing another game with him or making this up. Not when she climbed inside and turned to face him, sweat beaded on her brow and tangling with her hair.

  “Thanks,” she sa
id, plastic crackling as she clutched the bags on her lap. “I really appreciate it.”

  Again he resisted the urge to brush the hair back from her eyes, to run his calloused thumb along her jaw. Maybe she was an extraordinary actress, but even being open now about knowing who he was, she didn’t act nervous. Just grateful.

  “You remember where I live?” she asked as she buckled up.

  Oh, he did. He’d driven by there twice, both times out of his way while in town but he couldn’t resist glancing up, wondering which was her bedroom window. Instead of saying anything, he simply nodded.

  She settled back in the seat, her elbow on the armrest. He made a point to keep his hand on the gearshift, well away from accidentally brushing her arm.

  Devin turned away and hit the gas again.

  ****

  Archer said little to her during the drive back to town.

  Actually, he said nothing. Not a word. He didn’t even turn on the radio so she was left with total silence, just the rumble of tires over rough country roads and the blaring of the air conditioning. Of course, he didn’t think very highly of her, so there wouldn’t have been much conversation to be had. Even trying to play the sweet, honest reporter angle hadn’t worked.

  And it wasn’t like she could flat out ask if he’d known Deborah Ann Walker, if he’d seen her at The Box. Especially since Tash wasn’t supposed to even know he’d been to the place.

  She hugged her groceries and stared ahead as they headed into town, hoping like hell no one saw them. The last thing she needed was more rumors. And Adam, he’d probably fire her if he knew.

  The close proximity of him wasn’t helping her much either. Physical strength was apparent in his every movement, muscle shifting under tanned flesh as he gripped the steering wheel, reached for the gear shift. Her skin prickled and she focused straight ahead. While everything in her argued with the idea he was a coldblooded killer, she clamped down on it. Damn it, she was not the kind of girl who let her hormones make all her decisions.

  He reached downtown and pulled up to her apartment without so much as having glanced in her direction the entire way.

  Her groceries sat in the back. She unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted, reaching back to grasp the shopping bags. It was a fair-sized truck but this brought her close enough that his musky male sent enveloped her and her elbow brushed his; the contact sent shivers through her.

  Keep your head on straight. It’s just pheromones messing with you—all boys have them. Tash swallowed dryly and wiggled the shopping bags from between the seats to drag them onto her lap. She glanced up at Archer. “Thank you.”

  “Maybe reassure Harry I didn’t take you off to the woods and murder you at the first opportunity.” Archer cut her a sarcastic little look at last.

  She gave him a weak smile. “Front page news story, guaranteed.”

  He shook his head, turned back to face the road, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while she climbed out.

  Apologizing again would be overkill, but she hung there for a moment standing on the curb, grocery bags heavy in one hand and the other on the open door. “Well...” So did you really kill anyone? Because everything in me is saying no... “Thanks. Again.”

  Archer nodded and there seemed nothing else to say, so she closed the door and stepped from the curb to the sidewalk. Her grocery bags weighed heavily on her hands but she waited, watched him drive away before she turned toward her apartment.

  He’d head home, probably. So she had time to put her groceries away, shower and change, check in with Keisha, grab an early dinner, and head back out to keep an eye on his place.

  If he went to The Box again, she’d be ready to follow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Archer didn’t head back out, though she sat in her car alert and waiting for him. Early evening, he worked around the house. This time Tash had thought to keep binoculars in the car, and watched easily from a distance.

  “Is it fun stalking the killer while he’s trying to be left alone?” he’d asked.

  Well, she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but yes, yes it was. Or maybe not fun, but definitely intriguing. He’d been around the side and the back of the house much of the evening, out of sight of her car, and she didn’t want to risk skulking around while it was still light out so she sat in frustrated silence waiting for his reappearance. Eventually he appeared moving through the old house, lights on the lower level coming on as dusk descended.

  He had, from what she could tell, done a lot of work around the place. Painted the window frames, added new shutters. Weeded the front flowerbeds and planted colorful begonias. Bit by bit, the house was coming together. Whether or not he’d successfully sell it—especially anywhere near what it and the land was worth—was another story.

  Night fully fell on the house, making the surrounding woods empty blackness. No moon or stars were above, and Tash hoped the clouds that picked up as the evening had worn on would lead to the rain the area so desperately needed.

  Eventually curiosity got the better of her and she slipped out of her borrowed car. The binoculars hung from a strap around her neck and she had her cell phone in her back pocket still, though she didn’t expect to need to take any pictures. Just a bit of browsing. Maybe she’d see something important, like... Like a big sign that says, “Here’s all the evidence I’m what Adam says I am”? Right, sure. If he’d gone so long without being caught, he’d be careful.

  Of course, even though she wouldn’t admit it to Adam, she hadn’t eliminated the possibility of Archer being entirely innocent, either. And while she tried not to let it cloud her judgment, the possibility hung in the back of her mind with a thread of hope.

  She moved through the tall dark grass, wishing she could bring out a penlight but knowing it would be too risky. She took it slow, though, as the last thing she needed was to fall and break her ankle, bringing an ambulance down on Archer’s property and her.

  She made it through the field, however, and onto the property where the lawns were trimmed and mowed. Light dotted just a handful of the windows, so she stepped around them as to not be illuminated. Inside she saw rooms with plastic down and tape along the trims, fresh paint on the walls in neutral colors. Boxes stacked off to the side, tarps draped over furniture. No sign of Archer, though.

  Keeping to the shadows, she wandered around the side of the house. Though the little light there made it difficult to see, the pale siding appeared damaged. Tash crept closer still as the faded dark marks took shape.

  Blurred but still readable, she realized it was graffiti. KILLER. MURDERER. BURN IN HELL. He’d tried to clean it—with paint thinner, probably, as she’d seen him buy a large can of it the other day. But here it remained, probably until he ran a fresh coat of paint or two over it. Even then, whoever did it would probably vandalize the house anew.

  She couldn’t even curse the goddamn teens in town—from what she’d seen, anyone could’ve been responsible for it. Perhaps they did it during the day, when Archer was in town, or perhaps late at night after she’d left, but she definitely hadn’t seen anyone else around there.

  No sign of Archer through the windows facing her, so she pulled out her cell phone, added the flash, and snapped a picture of the damage. Not that she figured she’d have a use for it, but just in case.

  Next she continued around the back of the house. It was brighter here, and the windows overlooking the kitchen were open to let noise spill out. Archer moved about, running water in the sink and collecting pots and dishes.

  He looked...sad. She wasn’t sure what she expected—her encounters with him tended to alternate between guarded and flirty. But here, alone in his silent house, his lips were in a permanent frown, hands seemed to move automatically through the motions of cleaning up.

  Archer shut the water off, was about to turn, then stiffened. He looked in her direction and Tash dropped down, out of sight, the binoculars banging against her chest. No way could he see her, she was sure of it, but
still her heart leapt up and she held her breath. She inched up against the house, below the window and out of view. His shadow cut through the light over the lawn, but though she braced and waited, she didn’t hear him suddenly burst out the door. A few seconds later the shadow passed and the floorboards inside groaned as he paced around the kitchen.

  His phone rang, shrill in the silence. Tash crept up again, peeking through the window to see him lift the receiver from the base in the kitchen.

  “Hello?” his deep voice rumbled, brief and gruff. His frown deepened as he listened, receiver pressed against his ear. “Who is this?”

  The longer he listened, the more tense he grew. The fingers of his free hand coiled into a white-knuckled fist.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are but I’m going to rip your goddamn throat out, you little shit. Leave me the fuck alone!” He slammed the receiver down, paced, dragged his hands back through his hair and then returned to the phone and dialed someone. Redness crept up his face, his eyes blazing. “Is there any particular reason why my house gets vandalized, I get threatening phone calls, and Stirling Falls police still aren’t doing shit about it?” His face turned crimson. “Oh, bullshit, you could— ...Fuck you too, Perry.” Again he slammed the phone down, and when that didn’t seem enough, he yanked the entire unit from the wall and tossed it violently across the room.

  Tash held still, breathless and waiting, her heart hammering. He was all but shaking, staring at the pieces of the phone on the ground.

  Quick temper, she’d read in the articles. It was one of the reasons why people assumed he’d killed Chelsea, in a rage presumably because she’d kicked him out.

  But then the guy had shit like BURN IN HELL on his house and was apparently being threatened over the phone. She’d probably break some stuff too.