Nick
I pace in my living room while waiting for Elliot to show up. I don’t know how to face him. While he was out cake tasting with Oliver, I was stabbing him in the back by investigating his best friend, the person he trusts with his life. Probably more than me. We’ll get to test that theory today. Because as it turns out, my hunch was right.
Once the idea that Sam was the copycat killer crossed my mind, everything clicked into place. So, I checked on Sam’s story about the day he came to the city. I called a friend in the Coast Guard, convinced him to let me access the arrest records for the day Sam arrived, the day of the first murder.
There was no record of his arrest. I can’t see the point of making up such an elaborate lie unless he’s hiding something. Then he doubled down on the lie when he conveniently disappeared again around the time of the next murder.
And now I have to tell Elliot what his best friend has been up to. I don’t know who he’s going to hate more. Me for going behind his back. Or Sam for lying to him and threatening his safety and sanity.
I’d vote for Sam, but I’m biased.
When my doorbell rings, I’m surprised I didn’t hear Elliotarrive. I stare at the door, taking a deep breath to luxuriate in the spicy sweet smell that’s sweeter to me now than when we started. Blowing out a breath, I drag my feet towards the door. Can’t postpone this anymore.
Elliot is typing on his phone when I open the door. He continues to type aggressively as he walks inside without even looking up. “Oliver is furious at me for ditching the cake tasting,” he explains as he walks past me. Dodging the shelves filled with the oddest knick-knacks and the coffee table, he flops down on my couch without looking up once.
Is it cheesy to feel happy that he knows my floor plan that well?It’s cheesy. I file it under the things I should never utter in front of Elliot if I want to preserve the little dignity I have.
“Wait, did you say you ditched cake tasting? You sent me that picture.” I sit on the armchair to avoid jumping on him. I need to talk to him before I convince myself to ditch the whole plan.
“I left early,” he murmurs, his focus still on his phone.
Okay, that’s annoying. No wonder the older generation hates us. “Why?”
He holds up a finger, and I get the urge to take that phone and throw it across the room, so he’ll finally look at me. Typing something, he hums, then places the phone on the table.
His breath hitches when he finally looks up at me. It’s not apparent, barely there change in breathing. But I notice. I notice everything about him. Always have. That’s why I knew he was hiding something long before I figured out he was a killer. And probably why now I know his friend is betraying him.
Standing up, he leans down and presses his lips against mine in a chaste kiss. When he tries to pull back, I snake my arms around him, seeking his lips. My tongue sneaks into his mouth, craving his taste. Cravinghim.
His warmth washes over me, his taste grounding. When I’m on the verge of postponing our discussion and throwing Elliot on the couch to take him right there, I let him moveaway.
He’s flushed, still breathing loudly when he sits back down. “I need to tell you something,” he says.
That brings me back to the world of living. “Me too.” I meet his concerned gaze. “You go first,” I offer.
He shakes his head, sliding to the corner of the couch, so our knees touch. “What did you want to talk about? Mine will take longer to explain.”
I blow out a breath and let the warmth of his body provide me some strength. “Sam lied about his arrest,” I blurt.
He frowns in confusion. “What?”
I take a deep breath.Be clear, Nick. “Sam never got arrested by the Coast Guard. I checked the records.”
He straightens his back, and the warmth from his touch disappears. “Why were you checking random arrest records?”
“It wasn’t random. I… I got this feeling that Sam was hiding something when he told us about the whole Coast Guard business, so I checked on his story. He lied.”
Elliot stares at me for a second, his mouth slack. “Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him. But I think—”
He closes his eyes. “No. Why were you looking into Sam?”
“He couldn’t explain where he was during the murders—”
His eyes flap open, and all I see in them is anger. The warmth vanishes from his eyes so abruptly it sends a chill through me.
“Elliot, baby—”
