Drea stood just outside the fence to Cujo’s back garden balancing four boxes of glass candleholders under her chin.What was it he’d said?Oh, that’s right.“Rides my ass.”She should give him something to complain about.
She debated doing an about-face.There was no room at home for the boxes, and Cujo had offered to keep them in his garage, but they could stay in the trunk of her car.
Drea yawned.She’d had two miserable hours of sleep involving a dream in which she lived in Mo’s house.But his garden had morphed into an oil field, and the woman from the café appeared at her side.A tide of dark, slick oil pulsed its way toward them, but her feet wouldn’t move.She couldn’t escape as the wave crashed over her, burning her skin and closing her airways.When her phone rang, yanking her from her nightmare, she was so immersed in the throes of terror she couldn’t remember exactly what she had said to Cujo.But she remembered his text.Vivid imagination.Gah.
With an hour left before work and unable to sleep, she’d spent more time reading the rest of the files on the flash drive and was now familiar with the endangered Bartram’s scrub-hairstreak butterfly.
She needed to make a decision.Her shift started at ten p.m., not that she’d told Cujo about her second job.It was none of his business.She’d debated telling Harper how dire her mom’s condition had gotten, but for the first time since Drea had known her, Harper was happy.Drea didn’t want to rain all over that with her own problems.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the gate open with her foot.Thickly planted shrubs and succulents surrounded a large patio.In the middle of the patio was a giant plastic turtle, filled with sand.Did Cujo have kids?
“Drea,” Cujo said, his eyes wide with surprise.
Must be nice to sit around shooting the shit while she did all the work.Paddleboards leaned up against the fence and paddles lay on the ground.
“I knocked on the front door, but I guess you didn’t hear me out here,” she said as briskly as she could manage.She didn’t elaborate.No need to make herself more of a pain in his ass.
She placed the four boxes on the deck.There were still two more in her trunk.
“Drea, come meet my brother.Connor, this is Drea.”
It figured.They looked alike.Broad-shouldered with blond hair.Drea gave him a small wave.“Please to meet you, Connor.I’m the champion ass-rider.”
She continued back to the car.Maybe she should just get in it and drive off to work.The supplies could always be dropped off at Second Circle in the morning.Screw him and his assessment of her.
The gate banged and Cujo stalked toward her.He wore black shorts and a gray sleeveless hoodie, which showcased his athletic frame.It would have been attractive had he not been scowling.
“Drea.”He grabbed her hand.The heat of his fingers seared her and she pulled her hand back quickly.“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.I get it.You don’t like me and I’m okay with that.”The lie cut through her.It wasn’t okay.Foolishly, she’d started to enjoy their time together.Had even looked forward to it.
“That’s not it at all.Fuck.I am so bad at this shit.”Cujo scraped a hand across the stubble on his jaw.
“I gotta go, Cujo.Enjoy your night.”Drea fumbled around in her pocket until she found her keys.Screw the rest of the candleholders.Cujo walked around her, blocking her path.
“Don’t drive off angry, Drea.Let me explain what I was saying.”
A single tear escaped, and Drea pushed Cujo out of the way.She never cried—no matter how bad things got, she didn’t have time for the indulgence of tears.She didn’t cry when she realized she couldn’t go to college.She didn’t cry when the doctor’s told her Rosa didn’t have long to live.And she sure as hell wasn’t going to cry because some guy said bad things about her.
“Fuck, don’t—” He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek as he brushed the tear away.
“No, you don’t get to do that,” she said slapping his hands away, ignoring the way she melted a little inside.She struggled to regain her composure.
“Drea, please.”He moved away from the car but held out his hand.“Please come back inside with me, we need to talk.And not just about what you overheard.”
He stepped back toward the house.Drea stamped down the urge to take his hand and follow, to let him explain.Instead, she sprinted to the car and yanked the door open.She jumped inside and started the engine, seatbelt be damned.
“Drea.Don’t—” His shouts faded into the distance, the look of anguish on his face blurred in the rearview mirror.
She did something she’d never done before.She ran.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following afternoon, Drea stood outside the white Miami Beach police station and pulled the flash drive from her purse.She justknewit was connected to the woman at the café, and after talking herself into circles, she had to do this.What if L.A.were her initials?Or what if the police could figure out who Walter was?Mike MacArthur’s death and the content of the message were surely compelling enough.
She stifled a yawn, congratulating herself on surviving going from the afternoon shift at José’s to the night shift at the hotel then back to José’s to open up with only a couple of stolen hours of sleep in between.But despite being run ragged, it wasn’t thoughts of the flash drive or her finances that kept her from sleeping well.It was one annoyingly sexy tattoo artist that kept popping into her thoughts.Underneath the heartache, she knew he was right.She had been fighting a long time.And with all the time she spent in her mom’s company, shedidcome out swinging.But worst of all, shewasangry, and couldn’t wait to start her own life, instead of helping her mother live out hers.Christ, she didn’t even know what TV shows she liked, because they always watched what her mother wanted to.
With a deep breath, she pushed the glass door open.She checked in with the duty officer, then took a seat as instructed.A little boy wobbled his way over to her and handed her his teddy bear.
