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“Oh, no way,” she said. “You’re on the couch.”
“Brutal,” I said. “I thought I was the killer.”
“When it comes to my personal space, I’m the biggest killer around.”
I laughed as we slipped through the door together and headed back into the kitchen. I wanted to pick up where we left off but the moment was gone.
And I figured there’d be plenty more moments to come. No need to force something, no need to rush it.
The outside world would rush us as much as it wanted. We could try to enjoy each other, at least for a while.27EliseWe spent the next two days in and out of bed. During that stretch, for a full twenty-four hours, I actually manage to forget all about the men that want to kill me and Tanner.
But on the morning of the third day as I sat on the balcony and sipped some coffee, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Cool air rippled over my skin. Car horns honked down below. A small long-legged spider crawled along the metal bannister.
The sliding door opened. “Hungry?” Tanner asked.
I looked back at him and shook my head. He stood wearing a pair of dark fitted sweats and no shirt. Tattoos covered his muscular chest. I wanted to kiss those tattoos, run my tongue along them, and let him tease me just the way I liked.
But I couldn’t shake the pit in my stomach.
“Have you heard from my dad?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“I haven’t either. That’s weird, right?”
“Not necessarily. He’s a busy guy.”
“You’d think he’d message me, at least. I mean, I sort of disappeared on him, right?”
“We could go check on him,” Tanner said. “Make sure he’s on the straight and narrow. Maybe I could have a little chat with him.”
I grunted and sipped my coffee. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said. “But maybe you’re right. We could check on him at least.”
He leaned against the doorway. “Are you worried?” he asked.
“About him?”
He gestured vaguely toward the city. “About anything.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I think I am but I’m not sure why. It shouldn’t matter that he hasn’t gotten in touch yet, but it does for some reason.”
“We’ll do a safety check. Make sure he’s still alive.”
I nodded. “Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea.”
“You sure you’re not hungry? I’m making eggs.”
“I’m okay, really. I had some granola already.”
“Suit yourself.” He disappeared back inside and I turned toward the city again.
Sunlight bounced off the steel and glass of the building across the street. I wondered how many lives were being led in that place, and how many of them would go screaming for the hills if they had to deal with even half of what I’ve been through.
Didn’t matter. It wasn’t over for me. And I had no other life, just this one.
I sipped my coffee and leaned back, closing my eyes.Tanner drove slowly toward my father’s place. He wore a decent suit with a gun tucked into a holster under his arm. He looked like an FBI agent or a murder detective, except his suit cost ten times whatever they wore.
“You do the talking,” he said. “I’ll just linger and look menacing.”
“Easy for you.”
He smiled. “I’ve got that look, right?”
“The crazy one, yeah.”
“Exactly. It’s in my eyes.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Psychopath. Killer. No remorse.”
“Yep, it’s all in there.”
“You like it, for some reason.”
“I guess I’m just too afraid to run away.”
“That, or you know you’d miss that thing I do with my tongue.”
“That too.”
He grinned and found a spot on the right side of the street. He did a quick parallel parking job and jumped out.
I climbed out more slowly. His shoes made a stomping sound on the concrete sidewalk. A couple kids sat on a stoop up ahead talking and laughing and looking at their phones. He led the way toward my father’s street, just a little alley between two major roads, sandwiched between larger buildings.
The cobbled alley was wet like someone dumped water on it. Tanner made a face as we walked. “Smells like trash,” he said.
I nodded at the dumpster. “Probably because it is trash.”
He made a fake gagging sound and I laughed. He grinned at me, caught my hand. Sometimes he acted like a teenager in love and sometimes he acted like he barely understood how to function in the world. I couldn’t really rectify those two versions of him, and sometimes it scared me how radically different he could be, bouncing between the two extremes.
We reached my father’s door and I knocked. There was no answer, so I knocked again, and again there was no answer.
“Shall we?” he asked, stepping up next to me.
“It’s locked,” I said, trying to the handle.
He gently moved me aside then produced a little black soft pouch from his right jacket pocket. “Never a problem,” he said, and produced two little picks, which he proceeded to shove into the lock.
