Dead Pretty

by Samantha Towle

  “Oh gosh. Yes, I’m coming now.” She rounds the desk.

  I step back out of the doorway, allowing her through, and then I follow her back to the main desk, where Detective Sparks and Detective Peters are still waiting.

  “Officers …” Margaret says, holding her hand out to shake theirs.

  I stand just off to the side. Not too far away that I can’t hear their conversation, but enough that I’m no longer a part of it.

  After their brief introductions are done, Margaret says, “You’re looking for Mike?”

  “Yes,” Detective Sparks says. “We need to speak to him urgently. We’re told he’s not answering his cell?”

  “That’s correct. I called this morning when he didn’t turn up for his shift. It’s not like Mike. In the two years he’s worked here, he’s always been on time. Never had a day off. So, it seemed odd that he hadn’t called. I left him a voice mail, asking him to call me back, but I still haven’t heard anything. I was going to go to his house later to check on him.”

  “Speaking of his home, can I confirm his address with you?” Detective Peters says to Margaret.

  “Of course.”

  He hands Margaret a slip of paper.

  “Yes, that’s Mike’s address,” she says, reading it before handing it back.

  The detectives share a look that I can’t decipher.

  “Can I ask what this is concerning? Is Mike okay?”

  “It’s a police matter,” Detective Sparks answers curtly. “But the moment you hear from Mike, I want you to call the station immediately.” He takes a card from his pocket and places it on the desktop. “This is a central number, but ask for either myself or Detective Peters, and you’ll be put straight through to us.”

  Margaret picks up the card, holding it to her chest. “Okay.”

  “The moment you hear from him,” he emphasizes as though Margaret didn’t get the importance the first time.

  “Thanks for your time,” Detective Peters says.

  They both turn to leave, but then Detective Sparks stops and turns back. His eyes finding mine.

  “I didn’t catch your name, Miss …” He steps back toward me.

  Something in his tone makes my stomach turn over.

  I swallow down. “Hayes. Audrey Hayes.”

  He nods, as though he expected me to say that name all along. “A question, Miss Hayes … how did you know we were police officers?”

  My eyes go to Detective Peters, who is standing where he stopped, and then back to Detective Sparks. I notice how dark and scarily intense his eyes are. “I’m sorry?” I respond, a little confused.

  He smiles that awful smile again, a bemused look on his face. “When we first arrived, you greeted us by saying officers. Neither of us is uniformed or wearing badges.” He shrugs. “Curious, I’m just wondering how you knew we were police.”

  He’s trying to put the question off as nothing. Just mere curiosity. But I know better.

  I swallow again. It’s a nervous tell, but I can’t stop myself from doing it.

  I shrug and smile the best I can. “A lucky guess.”

  Detective Sparks stares at me a moment. “Most people would say it’s unlucky when we come calling.” He taps his fingers on the wooden desktop with finality. “Have a good day, Miss Hayes.”

  And then they’re both gone, and I let out a breath that feels like it was trapped in my lungs for hours.

  I’ve been distracted all day. Ever since that visit from the police and that detective’s parting words to me. He knows I have a past with the police, all because of my stupidity.

  It will undoubtedly make him curious about me. And when he looks into my name and comes up dry, that will make him even more curious.

  Because Hayes was my first surname. Before it was changed to Irwin when I was adopted.

  When I moved here, I just went back to my old surname.

  Audrey Irwin was the name that was in the news for months.

  It was the name linked to the killings.

  But it won’t be hard for a police officer to trace Audrey Hayes to Audrey Irwin.

  Fucking. Fuck.

  And even worse, Margaret shared information with me that she’d discovered not long after the police left—that Sarah Greenwood, the woman who had been murdered, was Mike’s girlfriend.

  And now, he’s missing.

  The assumption is that he killed her and is now on the run. But Margaret finds it hard to believe. She said Mike isn’t a killer. I don’t know the guy well enough to form an opinion.

  The one thing I do know is, it’s always hard for people to accept that someone they know and care about are not who they thought them to be.

  I know that Tobias’s family, to this day, believes that he’s innocent. Even with all the physical evidence against him and after a jury of his peers deemed him to be guilty, they still refuse to accept it.

  I’ve learned from my experiences that nothing is ever as it really seems.

  People only allow you to see what they want you to.

  You never really know anyone. No matter what you think.

  The closest person to you could be hiding all kinds of things.

  So, it would be no surprise to me if Mike did murder his girlfriend.

  The one thing for me is that Sarah’s murder is not connected to the other two unsolved murders, meaning there is no copycat killer in this town.

  I do have to wonder what it is about me that seems to attract murderers. I left town to get away from one murderer, only to start working at a job with another murderer.

  I don’t believe in coincidences. Maybe you could call it bad luck, but I wasn’t his victim.

  Maybe there are just more evil people in this world than I thought.

  After my shift was finished, I helped Margaret close up the library.

  She was really distressed by everything going on. So much so that she insisted on driving me home. She said that I shouldn’t be walking the streets alone. Not with what had happened.

  She might find it hard to think that Mike killed his girlfriend, but regardless, a girl is dead, and a killer is out there somewhere.

  If only she knew my past, she would know that walking home alone in daylight was the very least of my fears.

  After being dropped off at my apartment building, with a vigilant Margaret waiting until I was inside the building before driving away, I headed up to my apartment and found Eleven waiting outside my door for me.

  I was happy to see her, and also, it gave me a reason to knock on Jack’s door.

  Yes, I am that pathetic.

  And I won’t lie when I say that I was disappointed when he didn’t answer.

  I taped a note to his door, letting him know that Eleven was with me. Then, I took a long shower, washing the day off me. Dressed in sweats. Brushed my hair, leaving it to dry naturally. Then, I made dinner for myself and Eleven. She had tuna, and I had a bowl of tomato soup.

  I’m curled up on the sofa with Eleven when there’s a knock at my door.

  “That’ll be your dad,” I say to Eleven.

  Leaving her on the sofa, I go to the door, checking the peephole to ensure that I am right and that it is Jack. I unlock the door and open it to him.

  His hair is mussed up. The way it is when he’s just taken off his motorcycle helmet.

  “Hey.”

  He smiles at me, and my heart shimmies in my chest.

  Stupid heart.

  “Hey. Come in. I’ll get her for you.”

  Jack steps inside the doorway, closing the door behind him.

  “She’s escaping again?” I say to him as I walk over to get Eleven.

  “Yep. Still not figured out how she’s getting out. Not sure I ever will.” He chuckles.

  I feel his laughter run down my back like a caress of warm hands.

  “How was your day?” he asks me as I pick up Eleven.

  I turn back to him, cuddling her to my chest. “Weird,” I answer him honestly.

&
nbsp; “Weird how?”

  “The police came to my work today.”

  I watch carefully for his reaction. I’m not fully sure why I do this. Maybe it’s the untrusting part of me that does.

  “The police?”

  He’s leaning back against the wall. The only expression on his face is the wry lift of his brow. “Someone been stealing books?”

  “No. They were looking for a guy who works there. Mike. It was his girlfriend who was found dead yesterday.”

  I’m still watching.

  “No shit,” he says.

  Still no real facial reaction. His words are not what I would have expected someone to say to that. But then, from everything I have learned, possibly the reaction I expect isn’t necessarily the correct one.

  Perhaps Jack is reacting as a normal person would. Not a guilty person. Or maybe he’s just reacting like Jack would, based on all his life experiences—which I know nothing about. I can only surmise about his time in the military. I know very little about him in general.

  But if I got to know him well, then that would mean, in turn, he’d get to know me too. And I can’t do that.

  “So, what happened? Was the guy there?”

  I perch on the edge of my sofa, stroking Eleven, who is still in my arms. “No, he hadn’t shown up for work, which is out of character for him. They spoke to my manager, checked his home address with her, and left their number for us to call them if we heard from him. They wouldn’t say why they were looking for him. It wasn’t until later when my manager heard on the gossip mill that the murdered girl was his girlfriend.”

  “That’s … wow. So, they think he killed her?”

  I shrug. “They usually look at the closest people to the deceased, right?”

  He nods in response, eyes holding mine.

  I look away. “And the fact that he’s disappeared isn’t helping his case.”

  “How are you feeling about it?”

  My eyes snap back to his. It seems an odd question to ask. “What do you mean?” My words are clipped. If they affect him, he doesn’t let on.

  Just pushes his hands into his front pockets, rocking on his heels, back still resting against the wall. “I mean, you worked with the guy, and he’s potentially a killer. That would weird anyone out, Audrey.”

  Yes, it would. If I were a normal person who hadn’t already experienced the worst of the worst.

  “I didn’t know him well. We’ve barely spoken to each other since I started working there. He’s like me. Quiet. Doesn’t like to talk to people.”

  Jack stares at me a long moment. “You talk to me.”

  “Yeah, well …” I look away from his probing gaze, down at Eleven, running my fingers through her soft fur.

  “Does that mean that you like to talk to me?”

  Eleven jumps down from my lap and wanders into the kitchen. She was the barrier between us, and now, she’s left me vulnerable.

  Thanks, Eleven.

  I curl my toes into the carpet. “Maybe.”

  A low laugh. I hear him move. Then, he’s a shadow on the floor before me. His booted feet a mere inch from mine. I get a whiff of him—leather and cedar. It weakens me way more than it should.

  “Audrey.” His voice sounds deeper, huskier.

  I love hearing him say my name. Just the sound of his voice speaking my name turns me on a ridiculous amount.

  I lift my eyes to his.

  It’s a mistake.

  There’s fire in his eyes, and it lights one inside of me.

  “I like talking to you too,” he says.

  I wet my lips with my tongue. It’s a subconscious move. But one that brings those eyes of his to my mouth.

  “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

  Shivers send goose bumps racing over my heated skin.

  It’s not the first time I have had a man say those words to me. I have heard them many times in the past. But coming from Jack, it feels different. It feels like he means me. The whole of me. Not just the way I look.

  His hand is moving at his side. Fingers shifting restlessly, like they’re desperate to touch me. “You know I like you, Audrey. I’ve made no secret of that fact. The question is … do you like me?”

  I do.

  I shouldn’t, but I do.

  I look away from him, trying to sort my tangled thoughts.

  “Don’t do that.” His fingers touch my chin. He gently turns my head, bringing my eyes back to his. “Stay with me.”

  My heart is beating wildly inside my chest, a feeling of fight-or-flight starting. Both sound like a good option, to be honest.

  But because I’m an idiot, I do neither.

  I just sit here, staring at him.

  “What do you want from me, Jack?” I manage to speak words. The only ones I can come up with. And they sound like a plea.

  “Anything. Everything.” His eyes flicker down to my lips again. “To know if you taste as good as I think you do.”

  Holy fuck.

  Everything inside of me tightens. How am I supposed to recover from those words?

  My hands grip the sofa. I’m desperately trying to anchor myself. “We’re friends,” I croak.

  I am trying to fight this. I’m doing a shitty job. But at least I’m trying.

  “I thought you didn’t have friends,” he says, reminding me of my words to him from that day in the supermarket. And he’s not being cruel or sarcastic. He’s just being Jack. Laying it all out so simply.

  I swallow down. “I don’t.”

  His thumb traces a path down my throat, stopping at the hollow of my neck. His fingers curl around my nape.

  Adrenaline is running through my body. Making my heart beat faster and my pulse race.

  “So, what are we, Audrey?”

  “Neighbors?” It sounds like a question.

  The light in his eyes dims a little, and he lets out a sound of disappointment.

  “Neighbors,” he echoes, nodding.

  Then, he steps back, his hand leaving my neck.

  And I feel cold. Bereft.

  I watch him walk over to Eleven and pick her up. Then, he heads straight for the door.

  He opens it but glances back at me. “Thanks for watching Eleven, neighbor.”

  Then, he shuts the door behind him.

  And I’m still sitting here, in the exact same spot he left me.

  Fuck!

  I know this is the right thing. Letting him go. Not letting whatever was about to happen between us happen.

  I made my choices a long time ago, and I need to keep sticking with them.

  But …

  I could just sleep with him once and then be done.

  Yeah, because screwing your neighbor once and then ignoring him is a good idea, said no one ever.

  But …

  For fuck’s sake!

  I’m tired of fighting myself on this. Fighting wanting him.

  What’s the worst thing that could happen?

  I’ll get some orgasms, and then we’ll never speak again.

  Fine!

  All rational thought has left me by this point. I’m solely working off emotions right now. A whole fucking mix of them. Want, need, frustration, confusion, and a ton of anger.

  I’m angry with myself for being so weak. And I’m pissed at him for making me want him.

  Screw it all to hell!

  I’m storming out of my apartment and stomping my way over to his before I can even give it another thought.

  I bang my fist on his door.

  It swings open a few seconds later.

  He looks like he’s going to say something, but I don’t give him a chance to speak.

  I hold up my hand, stopping him. “Look, Jack, I don’t know what we are, okay!” My voice is starting to rise. I can’t seem to stop it. “I have no clue! All I do know is that I want you. I shouldn’t, but I do! I want you, and I—” I don’t get to finish the rest of that sentence.

  Because Jack reaches out, yanks me agai
nst his hard body, and kisses the hell out of me.

  The door is kicked shut. I’m pressed up against a wall.

  Jack is kissing me.

  Holy shit … Jack is kissing me.

  And I’m letting him.

  I shouldn’t but—

  I part my lips on a breath. His tongue slips into my mouth.

  And my brain switches off.

  I loop my arms around his neck, holding him close.

  He slides his fingers into my hair, gripping the strands, and angles my head exactly where he wants it, so he can kiss me deeper.

  It’s possessive.

  It’s raw and needful. Desperate.

  And I’m here for all of it.

  His thigh slides between mine, parting my legs, bringing our bodies together. I can feel his erection pressed up against my stomach.

  Sweet Jesus.

  “I was right,” he whispers into my mouth.

  “About?” I manage to say.

  “How good you taste.”

  I’m pretty sure I moan.

  “And you feel even better than anything I could conjure up.” His lips are chasing a path down my neck.

  “You thought about me? This?”

  His eyes come back to mine. “Every fucking night.”

  He takes my mouth again, the kiss fast becoming desperate again.

  My hands slide down his arms, to his waist. Finding the hem of his T-shirt, I slip my hands underneath, against the hard of his back muscles, needing to feel his skin.

  Soft. So fucking soft.

  I hear a groan.

  This time, it’s from him.

  His erection pushes into my stomach.

  I’m panting into his mouth. I feel like I’m going to explode. My clit is throbbing, pressed up against his thigh. I need to move to release the pressure.

  As if reading my mind, he starts to move his leg against me, creating a delicious friction against the spot where I need it most.

  I feel shameless in this moment.

  I’m here, fully dressed, dry-humping my neighbor’s leg against his apartment wall, and I don’t even care.

  I should stop this.

  No, you shouldn’t. Shut up, Audrey.

  That’s my vagina talking.

  In all honesty, I don’t think I could even if I tried.

  I want this. I want him.

  We’re all heat, hands, lips, and tongues.