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“The high school kids who wreck our property don’t seem the type to wear gloves.”
“You don’t think it was a kid?”
“It was so dark.” I closed my eyes, imagining the windowsill, the bright moon glinting off blond hair as the person climbed back out the window. “All I saw was blond hair.”
“Well, without fingerprints…”
“I know. It probably was Owen or Garrett, they’re both blond and I’m sure they’re the ones who destroyed the greenhouse and painted the graffiti on the walls.”
“I’ll go have a word with their parents,” Juliette said.
“I don’t think that’s in the police chief job description.”
“It’s a small town,” Juliette said with a shrug. “I can make this stuff up as I go. But look, if it wasn’t a kid and someone is targeting this house, I need you to call me if you see anything suspicious. Anything at all.”
“Absolutely.”
“And keep an eye on that Matt guy.”
“No problem.”
Juliette smirked. “Clearly.”
I laughed, for the first time in what felt like days. Just then, Juliette’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Save some pie for me,” Juliette said, looking at her phone. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
I watched Juliette, phone to her ear, rushing off to take care of important business. Pressing issues. Fingerprints and parents and juvenile delinquents.
My life seemed at that moment to exist on the head of a pin. I had Katie. Margot. The library. Faceless clients and a secure Internet connection. I liked it that way, wanted it that way.
After Eric had come into my life and destroyed so much, I’d done everything in my power to shrink my exposure to the outside world down to practically nothing. But the outside world still forced itself upon me. It broke into my house. Threatened my family.
The clatter of wood and metal snapped my head around. Matt stood at the edge of the lawn, watching me.
“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head. Sunlight glinted off his glasses, obliterating his eyes.
I nodded, unsure of what I would say if I opened my mouth.
MATT
After a good dinner which I ate like I was starving and a piece of something called sugar pie, Katie showed me to the sleeping porch. And it wasn’t much.
For a second I wondered if this was really worth it. Revenge. My Dad. Savannah.
But then I remembered someone broke into Katie’s room last night and figured I could rough it for a while, if it kept her safe.
“You got a light here,” Katie said, pointing at the lamp on a table next to the day bed. There was a stack of fresh towels and sheets there and a thin pillow.
“Is there a fan?” I asked because the air was thick.
“It’s on.” She pointed up where a ceiling fan turned lazily in the rafters.
She vanished and I went into the downstairs bathroom to shower off the grime of the day. The hot water felt good against my muscles and then, in an old trick, I took a deep breath and turned the water as cold as I could take and stood under the blast until I was cold in my bones.
I dried off, wrapped one of the towels around my waist and stepped out into the hallway.
And almost right into Savannah. She jumped back and put out a hand, which by pure luck, touched my skin, the damp muscles of my stomach. On instinct, total instinct, I put my hand over hers pressing it tight to my body. So she could feel me.
And I could feel her.
In the steam from the bathroom I made her touch me. And she let me.
I was exhausted from the day, from my lies. From using revenge to distract me from the blood on my hands. I was exhausted from thinking too much and I wanted to use her to forget. For just a second.
And she wanted the same. I knew it. I could taste it.
I’ll fuck you until we both don’t remember our sins.
“Do you want something, Savannah?” I whispered.
She licked her lips and I moaned.
Her eyes lifted to mine and I could see it in her. The pull towards me. It would take nothing to walk her backwards to the sleeping porch. To my bed.
“What do you want?” I stepped closer so she could feel me. Smell me.
“Matt,” she breathed.
“Just…say it. I’ll give it to you.”
Oh, god, I would fucking give it to her.
My blood pounded. My dick as hard as steel.
“I can’t,” she whispered and stepped away and I was a liar but I wasn’t an asshole and I let her go.
She practically ran and I felt bad about that. About pushing too hard. But it was just one more thing to feel bad about.
I forgot a razor in my mad run from St. Louis and the scruff of my beard rasped under my hands as I scrubbed at my face. I thought of all my clients, hiring the cool and slick Matt Woods to design their summer homes, their art galleries and condos.
