by Jody Holford
Still frowning, Kate asked, “Why don’t you use yours?”
Eyeing her sister’s pale blue shirt, wondering if she could borrow it, Lucy sat up, taking the computer. “Mine isn’t connected to the printer, and it seemed like a hassle, so I thought I’d borrow yours. You look pretty. I like your shirt. Where are you going?”
“Down to city hall. There’s a problem with the work permit for the reconstruction.”
“I’ll come with. We could grab dinner after. Maybe snag Char for an hour or so,” Lucy suggested, opening the laptop as she pushed back on the bed so she could lean against the wall. Her head grazed the poster of Paris that hung over her sister’s bed.
“I think her and Luke are having date night. She texted earlier.”
Lucy listened to her sister as Kate puttered around her bedroom straightening books and talking about taking the lead on the reconstruction that, hopefully, would start next week. While she could repeat what her sister was saying, Lucy’s attention was glued to Kate’s browser history, trying to figure out Kate’s weird mood. Being an older sister came with a snooping license. She opened the email.
“What are you printing?” Kate asked, eyeing her from the desk she’d had since they were kids. It still had boy band posters taped to the white-painted side.
“Nothing. I’m reading your email now.”
“What?” Kate screeched and scrambled toward Lucy. Lucy shut the laptop quickly and handed it over as Kate yelled, “What the hell, Lucy?”
“Why are you getting turned down for an internship at a fashion house?”
Kate blinked rapidly, yanked her computer from Lucy’s hands, and set it on the desk. Her shoulders stiffened, and she didn’t turn to face her sister. Lucy could smell whatever her mom was making in the kitchen, and her stomach rumbled audibly.
“Obviously, I’m not suited for the position. Duh.”
“Duh? What are you, twelve? Why does a sociology major with a degree in social work apply for a fashion internship in New York?”
Lucy scooted off of the bed. The breeze blew through Kate’s open window, bringing in the scent of almost-summer along with the heat.
Kate turned to look at her, hands on her hips, voice firm. “It’s nothing. Forget it. And don’t snoop. I’m not twelve anymore, and this isn’t you looking at my diary.” Kate brushed past Lucy without meeting her eyes.
Lucy threw up her arms. “I did not read your diary! That was Char!”
Kate kept walking and Lucy scrambled after her, grabbing the rail as they went down the stairs. Glancing at the large, oval clock hanging over the fireplace, Lucy noted it was past six and wondered what time Alex would be home.
Whirling without warning, Kate looked up at Lucy and snapped, “I don’t care. Just shut up about it, okay?”
Lucy froze, her fingers tightening around the banister. A lump formed in her throat. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just wondered what was up with you,” Lucy apologized, keeping her own voice low. “I’m sorry.”
Kate’s face softened, but her eyes stayed heated. Kate looked just like their dad when she was mad; firm lips and angry eyes, but it never lasted long.
Alex crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it into the garbage can from across the room.
“I taught you that,” his dad claimed when it went straight in. Alex laughed and picked up his mug but set it back down when he got a mouthful of cold coffee. Moving over to where his dad stood, glasses perched on top of his head—the only real sign that he had aged—they stared at the board in silence. Alex had posted pictures of all of the vandalized properties as a timeline.
They made a list of kids and jackasses known in Angel’s Lake for causing trouble. Truthfully, there weren’t that many, but they were all worth a second glance. Standing beside his dad, the knots in Alex’s shoulders loosened. His dad had been a tough-love kind of dad, but he’d always been fair and brutally honest. The opposite of Alex’s mother. So, Alex didn’t mind going head-to-head with his dad over something. He valued Chuck’s opinion.
“It’s been a while since we had it out on the court,” Alex replied, surveying the timeline, the list of names, the dates and frequencies. There were links between the incidents. Little things that hovered between them—all late night or very early in the day. Nothing mid-day.
“I can still take you, son, so don’t go spouting off.”
“Maybe if I go easy on you.”
Alex picked up a mug shot of Davey. He was stupid enough, but Alex didn’t see him painting buildings for kicks—he’d have to get off of his lazy, drunken ass to do it. There was a group home on the city limits for teen boys. None of them had caused Alex any trouble, but he had their shots from prior incidents, so he put them up on the board.
“How about we play a game of twenty-one? You win, I’ll mow your lawn,” his dad suggested.
“And if you win? Not that you will.”
“You tell me what’s going on between you and Lucy.”
“Shit, dad. I can do that anyway. We’re just … hooking up. You know, while she’s here.”
Chuck grimaced, shaking his head. “Don’t make my mistakes, Alex.”
Alex’s jaw tightened—he actually felt the muscles there harden.
“Do not compare her to mom. She’s not mom.”
“Gorgeous woman always looking for the next best thing? Can’t stay in one place or put roots down?” Chuck pulled his glasses off his head and put them on.
“Don’t compare them. I’m serious. They are nothing alike.”
Chuck started to say more, but Alex gave him a look that stopped him. Rolling his shoulders, he walked to the water cooler. The air conditioning in the conference room of the station, where they’d been camped for hours, blew loud and weak. Alex felt the headache creeping back up his shoulder blades and into the base of his skull.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Anyway, I need to get going. I’m going to head up to the cabin for a few days. I’ll give you a call when I get back, and we’ll play that game of twenty-one.”
Chuck’s eyes stayed on Alex—he could feel them assessing, waiting until Alex returned the steady gaze.
“When did you decide to go to the cabin?”
“Just now. I need a break.”
“From retirement?”
“Maybe. Or from my moody son.”
Alex rolled his eyes and walked his dad out—past Dolores, who glanced up and gave a sickeningly sweet smile.
“Don’t be a stranger, good-looking,” she drawled, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. His dad winked at her, and Alex was grateful he hadn’t eaten lunch. Shaking his head, he waved as his dad left. Turning back to Dolores, he waited until she made eye contact.
“You need something, honey?”
“Yeah. Don’t flirt with my dad. He’s a no-fly zone, and it’s just weird.”
He felt a wave of guilt at the crestfallen look on her face and he couldn’t help thinking that he was missing something. Something right there in front of him.
Glancing at his watch, he decided he wouldn’t leave until he had at least one piece, one part that could pull the case together. At this point, he’d settle for anything. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be heading home soon.
“Okay. I’ll call you when I get into town. No. I can only stay a couple of days,” Lucy said into the phone. She heard Alex’s front door open and close and felt a bubble of awareness, anticipation to see him, spurt up through her chest. The cat curled against her thigh on Alex’s big, comfy bed. She smiled when he walked into the room, then frowned when she saw how tired he looked.
“I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon. See what you can line up for me. Okay. Thanks. Bye.”
Alex was already ditching his shirt, making that bubble turn to more of a tingle that spread down through her stomach.
“Talking to your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice laced with fatigue.
She closed her laptop, insulted Furball by pushing him over a bit, and patted the bed b
eside her.
“No. My sugar daddy. Totally different.”
Alex laughed, but the sound was empty. He sat beside her on the bed, his hip touching hers as he leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead.
“Obviously. This is becoming a habit, finding you in my bed at the end of the day.”
“End of the night, really. You put in a long shift, Sheriff.”
Their foreheads rested against each other, and Lucy closed her eyes. He was fast becoming her favorite smell. The mix of his cologne, his soap, and the heat of the day.
“Yeah. A lot of those lately. But I think I found something.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
“Later. Tell me what your sugar daddy wanted,” he said, kissing her nose and running his hand up her thigh. The cat jumped off the bed with a disgruntled sound.
“He misses me.”
“Who could blame him? I’d miss you, too.”
“Speaking of which…”
A dull, steady thump began in her chest, right under her ribs, at the look on his face. Everything slowed down. His hand came to a stop, and he retracted his head, distancing himself from her.
“You’re leaving,” he said, voice flat, his eyes darkening.
She tilted her head, told herself that it wasn’t unreasonable for him to assume the worst. Even though she thought she had shown him that she wanted to be here. With him. She hadn’t mentioned being anywhere else because, for the first time in forever, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She grabbed his wrist when he started to move off of the bed.
“Slow down, Captain Negative. I’m going to New York for a couple of days. Then I’ll be back. I was actually going to ask you if you want to come with me. We could stay in a pretty hotel and order room service. Get one of those big soaker tubs.”
He blinked, his eyes still shadowed with a doubt that made the ache in her chest intensify.
“Why are you going to New York?”
“I need to meet up with a couple of friends. I have to pick up the vouchers for the Mexico trip that we gave away at the town meeting a few weeks ago. And I’ve arranged to pick up some other big-ticket items. Kate and I have an old-school gala in the works, and we want to have an auction.”
Even though Alex nodded in understanding and kept his gaze and his hands on her, she felt like he was too far away.
“I can’t take off. But that all sounds great. You can’t get them to just FedEx you the stuff?” His tone made it clear he thought she should be able to—that he was suspicious of her reason to go.
Irritation and a bit of hurt had Lucy moving off the bed. She walked to the chair that sat beside the gorgeous bay window, but she didn’t sit. From his bedroom, when the blinds were open, you could look out on the sleepy neighborhood and watch it come alive in the summer and get buried in the winter.
“I could, but it seems kind of ungrateful to say, ‘thanks for the thousands of dollars-worth of donations.’ Wanna mail them to me’?”
Alex stood and undid his pants. Lucy ignored the tightening in her belly and the urge to look at him.
“Okay. Good point. I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions. But I still can’t go. There’s too much going on here.”
“Okay. I’m leaving tomorrow night.”
His reply was brittle. “That was fast.”
She turned and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing at the sight of his body standing in the dim light of the room. Wearing only boxers, he was running his hands through his hair, watching her watch him.
“It’s not that hard to book a flight, Alex. And just so you know, it’s not a one-way ticket. I booked a return flight.”
He cringed at her tone and moved toward her. She bit her cheek harder, making her eyes water. Better from pain than sadness. He pushed his hands into her hair and covered her mouth with his, gentle but demanding. She gripped his wrists and held on, closing her eyes and letting herself feel. The hurt and the anger ebbed, leaving only longing and a bit of weepiness.
His forehead rested against hers. “Again. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“I do have a track record.”
She looked down, even though he continued to hold her face angled upward.
“Lucy. Look at me.”
She did. Her eyes watered again, but she was no longer biting the inside of her cheek. “I should go.”
He shook his head, whispering, “Please don’t.” His breath washed over her.
“You’re tired. You need sleep.” She was caving.
“I need you. More than I wanted to. More than I should.”
She moved one of her hands to the smooth skin of his waist, then stepped closer. She lifted her gaze to his and squeezed the wrist she was still holding.
“That’s not one-way, either.”
She closed the gap between them, showing him what she was too scared to say.
Chapter 12
Lucy liked the quiet, but sometimes she found the noise of a busy city like New York more soothing than the chirping of birds or the rush of the river. It offered a different kind of noise—a different kind of beauty. She stifled a yawn and checked her watch. She was meeting Lola Okar at her art gallery on 5th Avenue in just under half an hour. She sidestepped a homeless man’s outstretched legs and navigated around a yapping puppy on a leash. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she thought it would be better to check it when she stopped walking. There was more traffic on this one sidewalk in New York than in all of Angel’s Lake.
The smell of fresh bread and garbage battled each other as the sun made its way higher in the slightly overcast sky. Horns honked and breaks squealed, but in Lucy’s mind, she only heard Alex’s voice: Telling her he was sorry for jumping to conclusions. Telling her she mattered. Telling her to come back. Telling her he needed her like air.
Pressing the button for the crosswalk, she put her other palm to her stomach, hoping the pressure would settle the butterflies dancing inside. There was a Starbucks just before the gallery, and she ducked in to check her phone and further unsettle her nerves with some caffeine. The text from Alex made her smile from deep inside.
Alex: My bed is empty. I like it better with you in it.
She typed back quickly, her thumbs not pausing.
Lucy: I’m sure Furball would be happy to sleep with you.
She waited, watched it send, watched the screen say ‘read,’ and imagined him smiling.
Alex: He hogs the bed and doesn’t smell as good.
As she waited in the line, she received a couple of funny looks when she laughed out loud.
Lucy: I think that’s a compliment? It’s only 2 nights. It’ll give u a chance to miss me.
“Can I help you?” The barista’s voice was laid back, smooth, but his hand was already reaching for whatever cup Lucy wanted. She met his gaze, then wondered if getting his eyebrow pierced had hurt.
“Can I get a Pikes Place with cream and sugar?”
The studded eyebrow arched. Yes, she liked plain old coffee with all the fat and lots of sugar. She didn’t need skinny, flavored, half-fat, whipped, or drizzled. Just some caffeine. Straight up. He shrugged as if her order were ridiculous, asked her name, and took her money. When she moved to the end of the counter, she glanced down at her phone.
Alex: I already do.
Her heart pinched. She exhaled a long breath and tried to ignore the roiling in her stomach. It felt like her dancing butterflies had turned to seasick rowers. It was discomforting to realize she missed him, too. She rarely got lonely on her quests. She liked immersing herself in the culture of whatever place she found herself in, and that rarely left time for missing people or dissecting her life.
“Lucy.”
She thanked Studded Eyebrow Boy for the coffee and made her way to the door. She didn’t reply to Alex’s text. What would she say? I miss you, too? I feel like crying? I wish you were here?
Alex tucked his phone away when Lucy didn’t respond to his last text. Pushing away from hi
s desk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked out to the front counter.
Dolores had booked a few days off to visit her mother who was turning eighty. The lack of hip-shaking pop music was blissful.
“You need anything, Sheriff?” Mick asked, glancing over the top of glasses.
“Nah. I’m going to head out to the group home on Perkins and see what those boys have been up to lately.”
Mick nodded, closed the newspaper he was reading, and rolled his shoulders.
“I was taking a look at the pictures you got up in the conference room. Nobody jumps out at you, do they?”
“No. But, in every photo we took of the tagged buildings, there’s the same symbol kind of hidden within the work. I’m thinking that’s not a coincidence.”
Mick scrunched his furry eyebrows together and moved around the front counter. “I was looking close, but I didn’t notice a symbol.”
They walked back to the conference room Alex moved to the white board and pointed to the red circles on each of the pictures that showed graffiti damage. It had taken hours of eye strain, combing through the pictures, but somewhere on each photograph—like a warped version of “Where’s Waldo”—was a small series of woven lines. It made him feel a bit better that most of the designs were a series of intricate swirls. He wasn’t unobservant; the tagger knew what they were doing—leaving a calling card, but only in an obscured way. Mick straightened his glasses and stepped closer to the board.
“What the hell you got circled here?” he asked with his nose almost pressed to one of the photos.
“Look. See how the top of these lines arches like a heart? Then it pulls down here like ribbons crossing over each other. They stem up from this line here like it’s a balloon string or a tail,” Alex explained, pointing it out in one of the photos, trailing his finger along the shape.
“That’s just a bunch of squiggles. You seeing things, boy?”
Alex gave a surprised bark of laughter.
“I don’t think so. Look, see how the same shape is here, here. And here? Also, here.”
