Page 69 of Miserable Marionette

“I’m glad you’re still interested in Marionettist, Dr. Bell, seeing as you fled Piedmont so suddenly.”

I give a jerk on Gideon’s hand; it barely budges, his punishing grip tightening to the point I can’t hide my wince. Flipping jerkoff, I speak up anyway. “I’m sure the Jordans appreciate it. I’m glad they have someone looking out for them.”

They ignore me and I can see Mr. Johnson peeking out of the blinds in the storeroom. When our eyes meet, I toss the nosy older man a pointed glare.

Gideon, for once, is the first person to break the stalemate. “Family has always been important to me. I’m sure you understand. Your daughter is in college now, isn’t she?”

Altman’s face flushes a deep shade of crimson, and for a second, I see it… hesitation, the slight twitch of his thin lips. It’s no surprise Gideon does too, his voice slicker than it was before, velvet and ice. “I saw your press conference about the witness. That’s a lucky break.”

When Altman finally finds his words, they’re forced from his throat between gritted teeth. “Yes.”

“Did she get a good look at the guy?” Gideon asks, unbothered, but I know better despite the fact that Altman is clearly mad at him for leaving. Gideon cares about this case. Or at least it interests him a great deal. Saying Gideon cares about anything is a slight misrepresentation.

Altman seems to regain his own cavalier attitude at that, ignoring Gideon altogether, and geez, my hand will be black and blue come morning as the detective turns toward me. “A pleasure seeing you again, Miss Fisher.”

I smile warmly back at him. “Have a good afternoon, Detective!”

Gideon is good, deep down… I think. Maybe. They just need to see past all the, well, Gideon stuff. For now, I’ll compensate. “Fork-n-Fuel always serves country fried steaks on Mondays. They’re my favorite,” I add.

He nods, tipping his hat in a very cowboyish way. “I’ll check that out then.”

His attention slides to the man at my side. “I’ll be in touch if your expertise is needed, Dr. Bell.”

“Of course,” Gideon offers, but he’s already heading back to the door. I’m reaching for the handle, now a few minutes late for my shift, when he pulls me to a stop. Pain flares in my hand as he releases it, an uncomfortable mix of pins and needles from the lack of circulation and a deep throbbing ache. Gideon’s hands are tender on my face in comparison, making my thoughts go all fuzzy, his thumbs smooth as he caresses me. It looks loving, tending, adoring, and it is… mostly, but I know the look in his eyes. I know it well; my heart rate kicks into overdrive as he leans down, brushing his lips across my forehead. “I don’t like the way he looks at you, Audrey.”

“He was just being friend—"

“You don’t need friends, though, Right, puppet? You’ve got me.”

Flutterflies swarm my stomach as he inhales the scent of my shampoo, his eyelids fluttering like he just took a hit of premium hashish.

I nod.

“You won’t talk to him again, right, puppet? I’d hate to have to do something bad. For it to be your fault.”

My eyes widen in surprise before his lips meet mine, giving me a soft, consuming kiss. One that grows deeper, but not hungry. Overwhelming enough to make me forget we’re standing in front of a glass storefront. “I’ll be here to pick you up after work. Be good, Audrey.”

“Okay,” I exhale, breathless.

With that, Gideon opens the doors, giving a polite wave and nod to the Johnsons before gently urging me inside.

My eyes immediately find the wide ones of soon-to-be Ally Kessler, her best friend Kimberly, and her dad, there to settle the final bill for the wedding party. A feverish flush blazes across my cheeks and neck when Ally leans into Kim, murmuring, “Dang, Jim doesn’t kiss like that.”

I hide in the backroom until they leave.

33

Painted Windows & Pained Companions

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

It’s crazy how quickly you slip into a routine. How effortlessly it comes, to be beside someone despite all your time apart. Like two pieces of a machine snug together. A temperate October gives way to the chill of late November, Thanksgiving coming to pass with little fanfare. Even the obligatory call from Mom sliding over my nerves easier than ever before. Not too hard when you spend the duration of the call nestled in your best friend's lap, his long deft fingers lazily tracing the lines on your palms, making you bite your lip to stop from giggling. I listened to the stories of my half and step-siblings' achievements, all the ways they were making her proud, all the ways I never stood a chance. This year it didn’t leave me crying in bed, wondering why I hadn’t been good enough. Why they couldn’t look past their hatred for each other long enough to love me.

I’d nearly died of laughter when Gideon noticed tears welling in my eyes, promptly took the phone and told my mom to enjoy her holiday.

Her shocked, questioning use of his name seconds before he hung up.

He’d shifted me, forcing me to face him and ground his hardened cock into the fabric of my jeans until I came, shuddering in his lap seconds after.