Page 92 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

But both of us are obviously thinking the same thing.

“I’ll go investigate since you did the heavy lifting last time,” Reagan says finally, breaking me out of my thoughts. She heaves a sigh, and I hear movement on her end of the phone like she’s throwing stuff around her perpetually messy room. She curses, and I hear a thud like something has fallen.

“You know if your room wasn’t a disaster zone you might not have to practice your obstacle course conquering skills first thing in the morning,” I can’t help but comment. Though I realize that I’m not going to see anything, I still get to my feet.

“Bite me, Winnie.” Her voice is sweet and full of sarcasm. “Anyway, I know this is a bad time since I’m going on a recon mission and all. But I wanted to see if you’d go to Dark Acres with me next Friday.”

“Uh, sure. I’m surprised you waited so long to ask.” Honestly, I haven’t thought about the haunted cornfield and barns in a while. It’s only relevant when Halloween rolls around, and Reagan can be counted on to drag me out there at least once before the season is over and it’s back to being a normal farm for families and tourists to pick apples, pumpkins, and sit on straw bales for bumpy hayrides. “Friday I can totally do.”

“If you and your mom are doing anything, though, let me know. I don’t mind rescheduling.” When I don’t reply, silence fills the line for a few tense moments. “Winnie?” Reagan sounds hesitant. “Is everything okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“Mom is out of town until November,” I say flatly, grabbing a pair of soft sweatpants and a t-shirt from my drawer full of them. “So uh, no. We aren’t doing anything special. Or anything at all, actually. I guess I’ll feel blessed if she even remembers to call me this month.” Though sometimes I wonder if it’s less about her not remembering and more about her not caring.

One day, I’ll have to face up to the fact that my mom can barely look at me, and still blames me somewhat for what happened with her second husband.

One day, I’ll have to decide if I can live with those feelings she has towards me.

But this is definitely not that day, or that week. Probably not even that century, truth be told.

“Oh, shit. That’s…I’m sorry, Winnie. Seriously, that sucks. You know you can spend a few days or weeks here. Or I can come there if you don’t want to be alone.” Her offer is genuine, and a smile touches my lips.

Dropping the phone on the bed, I strip out of the tank top and shorts I’d changed into sometime during the night. “It’s okay. I work a lot this month, anyway.” It’s not a lie, even though I took the weekend off to make it longer. Within seconds, I’m dressed in black sweatpants and a soft green t-shirt with a faded print of a barely recognizable cat. “Anyway, yeah. I’m excited about next Friday.” Excited is a strong word, but I realize I’m looking forward to Dark Acres now that she’s brought it up.

“We’ll make a night of it. You know, get dinner beforehand. Maybe after we can watch a movie if it’s not too late?” I hear her door close behind her and realize she must be outside.

“Yeah, definitely.” Absently, I wander back to my bay window and sit down on the bench, eyes fixed on the road in front of my house.

And the police car that’s pulled up alongside my driveway, blocking me in if I were to try to leave. My stomach twists and I stare down at the car, confused as hell. “What?” I realize I’ve missed whatever she’s said to me, due to being so focused and in my own head.

“I said I’m going to let you go. I’ve got to put on my best sleuth act. But I’ll text you later?”

“Yeah. I’m just going over to Lou’s tonight to babysit,” I reply absently. “Let me know what you find out.” She agrees before hanging up, and I set my phone in my lap just as the window of the police car rolls down, the tinted-glass revealing the person in the driver’s seat.

Detective Trudeau stares up at me, his mirrored sunglasses nowhere to be seen. He unerringly finds my face in my window, his expression flat and thoughtful. A few seconds stretch into a minute, and I feel myself getting restless and more than a little nervous.

Why the hell is he here?

Before I can do more than just stare, however, he rolls the window back up, never looking away from me as the black glass slowly obscures his face once more. It’s another second before the police car starts moving, and I blink as he turns to the right at the end of my street, heading in the direction of the other cops already at the house a block away.

But all I can think about is how uncomfortable he makes me feel, and I rub my arms to disperse the goosebumps that have me shivering in the cool air of my room.

14

Convincing Lou to leave with Dan, who’s standing silently at the door and waits for her to go through all of her worries about leaving for a few hours, takes about as long as I’d expected it to. But at last I’m able to close the door behind her with a groan while I sag against it.

“Is it true?” Scott’s voice comes from the landing, and I glance up to see him leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs. Roscoe is chewing on a toy beside him, and I wonder if Lou has a bitch of a time with the dog whenever Scott isn’t here. Bonded is an understatement for these two.

“Is what true? That your mom can worry anything to death?” I ask, locking the door instinctively behind me.

“That Lacey Clarke died that morning and it wasn’t an accident. And that two other people have been murdered since then.” He’s not quite asking, and it makes me wonder just how much he knows about the situations. But I just watch him, trying to discern any clues about his motives from his expression alone.

It doesn’t work.

He really does play it close to the vest when he wants to, and he definitely gets that from my sister.

“I probably know as much as you,” I admit. “Which isn’t much. You’ll be shocked to know that the police don’t keep me informed about their investigations or leads.” Giving him a quick, dry smile, I push away from the door and head for the kitchen. He follows me, thundering down the stairs with Roscoe at his heels. Once in the kitchen, I deftly open the sliding door, letting the Doberman shoot out into the yard happily.

When Scott doesn’t follow, I look at him, brows raised. “You don’t want to go out and patrol with him?” Normally he does, even if it’s just to follow Roscoe around the yard. But Scott shakes his head and stays inside with me.