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Fuck! My brother was still leaning with unconcern against the counter. Huge, broad shoulders, grim, set face, harsh cold eyes. He looked exactly like what he was.
A cold-blooded killer.
“That’s right,” Mr. Martin said. “He’s been there the whole time. Must have been wearing his earphones or something, because he didn’t hear me knocking.”
I had to clutch the side of the counter with one hand, my ears starting to ring as I felt the sweat trickle down my back.
“And you’d be willing to swear to that?” Vick asked.
“I certainly would!” Mr. Martin said promptly. “I don’t have a lot of excitement in my day. I’d love to come and swear to it anywhere you wanted. Now where’s my coffee?”
I could tell by the look on Vick’s face that the last thing he’d want to do was try to break the irascible Mr. Martin’s alibi, and I hastily made him a huge cup of coffee to go (three Sweet ‘n’ Lows and three creamers, just like he liked it) and shoved a bag stuffed full of croissants through the window at him.
Vick was looking at Torin, and Mr. Martin winked at me.
“Place has been much nicer now that that asshole Jerald doesn’t hang around anymore,” he said, and off he went.
Vick grunted, and he turned to look at me. “How long has your brother been helping out at your bakery?” he asked.
“Every day,” I said, hoping desperately that I wouldn’t have to cover for anything else.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Vick said sharply, looking at my brother with dislike. “Two more days, asshole. If you fuck up before that, your ass is going back to jail.”
I tensed for a moment, but Torin never cared what anyone else thought of him. Only me.
He shrugged.
“Where are you planning to go after your parole is up?” Vick asked.
“Back home,” he said.
“Good,” Vick retorted. “You’ll be somebody else’s problem then.”
He turned to go. “Thank you for the coffee,” he told me, adding, “be careful” as he gave me a meaningful glance.
I didn’t need the warning.
I knew Torin was dangerous. I followed Vick to the front door and firmly pulled down the shades after he drove away, putting my LATE START sign up on the door.
I heard steps behind me and I whirled around. Tall and unhurried, looking like he’d just had a shower, in his halfway-house issued flannel shirt and jeans.
“You better stay away from me,” I snarled, balling my hands up into fists.
“No,” Torin said simply, moving with sure predator’s grace toward me, his eyes locked on me.
There was a traitorous throb in my cunt as I watched each step. Even though he was my brother. Even though he was a murderer. I stifled the feeling and drove it down inside me.
“Did you kill him?” I asked fiercely.
“Of course I did, Lele,” he said, stopping directly in front of me, big arms crossed over his chest.
I glared at him. “I think I would feel better if you had lied to me,” I said.
My brother shook his head. “I don’t lie to you, sister.” His lips twisted up. “You lie to me all the time, though.”
I ignored that, turning with trembling hands to grab a chair.
“Why did you do it?” I croaked.
