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Her skin feels so soft it’s almost startling, like velvet under my fingertips.
Nothing like her hardened exterior.
I coax her to look at me, nudging her chin up.
Her breath catches and her eyes flick over my face.
For a heady moment, her scowl fades behind pure surprise. Her pink lips part in ways that make me forget all about the damn crime scene.
“Hey,” I whisper, fighting the urge to run my thumb over her lower lip. I’ve already lost control once with my outburst and I’ve got to rein myself in. “Talk to me, Delilah. What’s going on? Because right now, we’ve just got possible trespassing, a little petty vandalism. Likely just some kids fucking with the new teacher in town. Or you think it’s something more?”
She swallows, darts her tongue over her lips, leaves them gleaming—but she doesn’t pull away from me this time.
“I mean, you sure seem to,” she almost whispers, her voice low and throaty. “You’re acting like we just found another body here.”
Dammit.
I hate to say she’s right.
I blew my stack like someone attacked her, tried to kill her, and my own words come flying back in my face.
Petty vandalism. A little trespassing. A prank.
No, it’s not life or death, yet here I am yelling at her like a drunken chimp.
Like I care about her safety a hell of a lot more than I would for any other citizen.
Clearing my throat, I make myself let go, and glance at the vivid red X—all the while pretending Miss Janelle isn’t watching us both after that little dustup.
“Dunno about you,” I say softly. “But that looks pretty damn threatening to me.”
“That’s the thing.” She looks at me for a few trembling seconds before she retreats—both emotionally and physically. Her face closes off as she steps back, putting distance between us. “It’s a threat to me. Which means one thing.”
“Your ex, Roger,” I finish. “You think he did it.”
“Who else?”
Sadly, I could name about six people in town off the top of my head, starting with a few punk teens known for getting in trouble with graffiti. Last fall, they even climbed all the way up to the top spire of that ugly mansion looming over the town like a dragon, jealously guarding its secrets.
The Arrendells had a complete shit fit and stopped short of pressing charges when they found out one of them was the judge’s kid.
But I don’t say that.
No point in spooking her till I’ve got something concrete.
“Can you tell me more about the person you saw?”
“No. Not really.” She shakes her head. “He knew just where to stand so he was in the shadows, barely any hint of light. I know he was tall. Thin. Really wide shoulders. He was walking kind of hunched over like he was trying to make himself smaller. Like he wanted to change his body language, his stride, so he wouldn’t be recognized. Kind of looked like a scarecrow, almost.”
“And Roger?”
“...yeah. He’s a runner. Tall guy.” Delilah bites her bottom lip. “Not that thin, but yeah, he’s got a lean build. So in the dark, if he was hunched over... Maybe. Maybe it could’ve been him.”
“Okay. I’m going to give you my personal number, not just the police line.”
“What?” Delilah’s brows pull together. “Why?”
“Because I want you to text me every single photo you have saved in your camera roll with Roger Strunk.” I smile faintly. “Unless you wiped them all out.”
“I specifically didn’t because I was trying to get the cops to take him seriously back in New York, and they wouldn’t,” she answers. There’s a flicker of a smile there again. “I won’t promise I didn’t print several out and burn them in effigy, though.”
“Ouch. Hope you don’t believe in voodoo, New York.”
“Only a little. I already go full Carrie on the guys who really upset me.” She puffs her chest out.
I chuckle.
Goddamn, she’s a little fucking cactus with curves and I’m too easily amused.
“Here. Let me see your phone.” I hold out my hand.
She shoves her hand into the pocket of that denim mess masquerading as shorts, rummaging around. The waistline slips down, baring a strip of velvety skin below the crinkled hem of her ruffled tank top.
Then it disappears again as she lifts her phone out, unlocks the screen, and passes it over to me without protest.
I punch my number into her address book, save it, and pass it back.
“For now, let’s assume your ex is in town,” I say. “And he’s possibly a person of interest with Emma Santos, though toxicology makes that a long shot.” There’s a theory building in my head, and I don’t like it one bit. “So I’m going to ask you again—please be careful. Don’t go anywhere alone after dark. Try to keep some company around during the day, too. Stay alert, and if you ever feel like you’re being watched or followed, trust your instincts. Get to safety as soon as possible and this time, you call me, Delilah. Understood?”
