“When the house is no longer an active crime scene, you’ll be able to resume your work, Mr. Grant.”
“What?No, I need to go in now,” I insisted.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Tillman said with a tone of finality. “We’ll be sure to lock the place up. Good night.”
“What the fu—!”
“Aubrey,” Jun said, interrupting me from swearing at a cop who’d probably need that one tiny insult as an excuse to throw my ass in jail. He took my hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. “Come on.”
I WASan angry little camper.
I fumed like a twelve-year-old brat the entire way back to my cottage and didn’t get out of the car when Jun parked and turned it off. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, holding his hand out for mine. I waited a good minute before shoving off the seat belt and climbing out.
Jun shut the front door after we got inside. “Let’s go to bed.”
“I have to make some phone calls,” I snapped. I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad at Tillman. And dead Cassidy. And Skelly. And Ghost Smith. And—God, I was justangry! Why was all of this bullshit happening? Why now, when all I wanted was to spend a week and a half with Jun before he went back to New York and God only knew when we’d see each other again?
Jun came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and dug into the knotted muscles. “It’s after eleven,” he said, voice still calm. “You don’t need to be waking up staff tonight when there’s nothing that can be done. Call first thing in the morning, once you’ve gotten some rest.”
Read: Once you’ve come down from that twelve out of ten on the rage scale.
I shrugged his hands off and marched into the kitchen, where I began rummaging through the cupboards. I had Jolly Ranchers and Starbursts in there somewhere, and I needed to stuff those bags in my face right now.
“What’re you looking for?” Jun asked.
“Candy. Before I light up because I’m really stressed out!” I didn’t mean to yell, but I’d found my breaking point that night, and it was dealing with murder. I just—nope. Nope, nope, a thousand times, nope.Hashtag nope.
I heard Jun’s quiet steps go upstairs, and I realized I’d probably pissed him off. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and here I was, shouting at him like it was his fault I couldn’t find my sugar and artificial color, Red #40. I slammed the upper cupboards shut and started pawing through the bottom ones, full of dry foods and pots and pans. Maybe I’d eaten them all and forgot to replenish stock.
Uuugh.
I stood and went to the fridge to read the grocery list I kept held in place with a Cthulhu magnet. Soy milk, scallops, celery, potatoes, candy—crap. I sighed and thumped my forehead against the fridge. I could hear Jun coming back down the spiral staircase and entering the kitchen. Then I smelled tobacco under my nose and looked to the side.
Jun was holding a cigarette out.
“I haven’t had one for a month,” I protested weakly, taking it.
“I won’t say anything.”
Fuck it. One wouldn’t kill me.
Well. I said that back when I was sixteen, too, and here I was, thirty-eight and trying to quit. It’d kill me eventually.
“Just one. And I need to pick up some candy tomorrow.”
“All right.”
I put the cigarette to my lips, and Jun held a lighter out, cupping a hand around the flame as he lit the end for me. Sweet, delicious nicotine. I missed you so much!
“Better?”
I nodded and blew the smoke out to one side. “Better,” I reluctantly agreed. I went to the sink to use it as an ashtray, since in my bold attempt to quit, I’d thrown all of mine out. “Why do you have cigarettes? I thought you quit years ago.”
Jun moved to stand in front of me. “I always keep a pack around.”
“For emergencies?”
“You never know.”
