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“Just here for a little while,” he said. “I’m here to surprise my girl.”
“Oh? That’s nice,” I said, physically gripping the edge of the table to keep from grabbing his head and driving his face into the granite surface. How dare he call her his girl? “Y’all in a long-distance relationship or somethin’?”
“Something like that,” he said, the corner of his mouth twisting. “Hey, do you know her? Her name is Macy.”
I made a face like I was trying to remember that name, then shook my head. “Don’t know anyone by that name, sorry.”
“Huh.” He seemed to bite down on the inside of his cheek as he turned back to his computer. I wanted to laugh at his weak-ass story.
Knowing what I knew about what he’d done to her, all I wanted was to lift him off the bench and press my foot onto his neck until he swore that he would leave. But I knew if I did that, he would know that I knew something, and I wouldn’t put Macy in that kind of danger.
10
MACY
The fear I’d been feeling since Dillon had come back from town three days before with the news that Alex had been lingering around Maria’s café like a bad smell had since dissipated into a general anxiety. I’d used his house phone to call the market and give them a general overview of what was going on. Thankfully, Alison had been the one to answer the phone, which had been a relief since Dillon had gotten rid of my only way to contact her, and he hadn’t had her number. I’d written it down and promised that I would keep her posted, and Dillon had promised to text her a picture of Alex so that she could be our discreet extra eyes in town.
After three days of staying inside and not doing anything but sleep, eat, and read—accompanied by the few words that he and exchanged and the few glances that I was able to sneak in his direction when I thought he wasn’t looking—I was just about ready to jump out of my skin with boredom. I’d never been this inactive in my life, and it was starting to have a clear effect on my mentality.
I put my book down on the end of the couch and got up, stretching my arms over my head and looking over to the desk where Dillon was typing away at his keyboard, fully absorbed in his work. A quick look over at the clock told me that it was six, which meant that he would be stopping any second.
Right on cue, he reached up to rub his eyes, and I figured it was as good a time as any to make my request. I walked over to the desk and waited for him to look up at me. The tired smile that lit up his face made my heart skip a beat, and I waited anxiously to find it again.
“If I give you some cash, would you mind running an errand for me in town?”
He blinked tiredly at me for a second before shaking his head. “Not at all. What do you need?”
I didn’t hesitate as I said, “A bottle of vodka. Grey Goose if you can find it.”
His hand froze mid-motion as he ran it through his hair. “Excuse me?”
“I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy. I probably wouldn’t go to a bar anyway, but now that I don’t have the option, I’m suddenly feeling the need to get out and do it.”
He opened his mouth, and I hurried to cut him off. “I’m not going to, which is why I’m asking you to go get the alcohol. I just need to cut loose a little bit.”
He looked at me for a good minute before getting out from behind his desk and going over to the cabinet nestled behind one of the barstools. My mouth dropped open when I saw how many bottles he had back there and how many seemed to be mostly full.
“No vodka, unfortunately. I have whiskey, tequila, or bourbon. You’re welcome to any of them, or I can still go get you vodka if you really want it.”
I looked into his liquor cabinet, taking a quick inventory of what he had there before reaching out for the bottle of Jameson. “No need. This’ll do just fine.”
I pulled out two glasses before going to the freezer and putting two ice cubes into my glass before turning back to the man standing in the corner of the room and staring at me with a raised eyebrow. “Do you take yours neat or on the rocks?”
“Who says I’m having any?”
“Me. I hate drinking alone.” I poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses and handed him the one without ice. “Unless… are you sober?” I asked, horrified that I might’ve just messed with someone’s recovery, some therapist I was.
“No. God no. I hate drinking alone too, and there hasn’t been anyone around to drink with in…” He blew out a puff of air. “Years.” He reached out for the glass. “Come to think of it, this is a pretty damn good idea.”
“I’ve been known to have them in my time.” I held out my glass to his. “To weird-ass circumstances.”
He chuckled. “To twists of fate.” We clinked our glasses and sipped, holding each other’s gazes as we drank. The warm, smokey taste of the whiskey flooded my belly with the heat I’d been after for the last couple of days. I went over to the couch and sat, pulling my legs up under my butt and taking another sip as I fixed my gaze on Dillon, who still leaned against the counter with his eyes on me.
“You gonna come sit, or are you gonna hover like a mother hen?”
He took another gulp of whiskey before coming over and taking a seat on the other end of the couch, folding one leg over the other with affected casualness. I did my best to keep my breathing even, making sure not to let him see what an effect he had on me.
“So tell me,” I said, keeping my eyes off him as I spoke, studying the color of my drink, “why police work?”
