I backtrack toward the pastries, cheeks flush with embarrassment I have no right to feel.This thing between us—it’s only texting.Words on a screen.Snippets of a man I shouldn't want.I haven’t even seen him outside of that one time, not really.
I keep texting him.I keep replaying the grocery store aisle, the way he touched me like I was his.I keep inventing errands that end in his orbit.I keep making excuses to be near him even though I know him from a distance isn’t enough.It never will be.
I’m still deciding what that makes me when someone steps up beside me.
“Melinda Westbrook?”
I blink.“Yes?”
The woman flashes a badge.“Detective Sarah Blake.Do you have a moment?”
No.“Sure,” I say.There goes number eight on my list.We step aside, away from the bread and the cookies and the illusion of normal.
“I was hoping you could answer a few questions about someone you may know.Cassius Ashenheart?”
My spine goes stiff.My palms start to sweat.I wipe them on my jeans and line my basket handle with the grout line on the floor.
“I don’t really know him.”Over Detective Blake’s shoulder, movement snags my eye.Black hoodie, head down, that deliberate, unhurried gait I’d know anywhere.The automatic doors breathe open, chime once, and a slice of winter light hits the silver zipper on his leather jacket before he’s gone.He doesn’t look back.I school my face, smooth the edge of a coupon display with my thumb to keep from shaking, and force my eyes to the detective again.
“Really?”Her smile says she’s already decided I’m lying.“You were seen near his block about two days ago.Traffic cams put you in the neighborhood after midnight.”
“I got turned around.I’m new here.”I keep my voice even, I hope.“It was a mistake.”
She hums like that’s cute.“Mmm.Did he say anything about his job?His background?”
“I’ve never spoken to him,” I say.“I’m sorry.I don’t have anything that would help you.”
Her smile tightens.She slips a card into my hand.“That’s too bad.If you do remember anything, even something small, use my card.Don’t hesitate.”She walks off like she’s doing me a favor.
I feel sick.
In the car, I lock the doors, check them twice, then a third time and that gives me some relief.I text him with shaking thumbs.
A detective just talked to me about you.I didn’t say anything.I swear.I don’t even know what she’s fishing for.I’m sorry.
The dots appear almost immediately.
Cassius:
Blake’s just fishing.She’s harmless.We’ve had her flagged for weeks.Thank you for being honest with me, darling.
My heart stops for a beat.Then thunders.Notthanks.But,Thank you for being honest with me, darling.Like it matters.LikeImatter.I line my phone perfectly with the edge of the console.I watch the review mirror like a picture frame, waiting for the man with no hands to try to buckle himself into my back seat.
Of course he already knew.Cassius doesn’t get surprised; he arranges the room and lets surprise happen to other people.This is the architecture of him: he learns names, times the doors, knows which cameras have blind spots.Mine is commas and spines in alphabetical order.Our worlds shouldn’t touch, but he drags them together like it’s easy.Comfort rolls through me so hard it registers as fear.Flaggedtastes like a paper cut.It means there’s a list and a watcher and a net he strung before I even knew there was water.Flaggedmeans her name bolded on that list and mine somewhere near it, and that should scare me.It steadies me instead—and that scares me more.
God help me—I’m already in too deep.
nine
The moronfrom the grocery store is worm food.
He had to go.Just the thought of him talking to Melinda, the chance of him ever crossing her path again, has me wishing I could display his body for everyone to see, a warning to others who dare threaten her peace.A message that says:touch what’s mine and you stop existing.
Next on my list is Wyatt if his dumbass doesn’t get his shit together.I went to Atlas after the grocery store and listened to him recount, in great detail, with way too much pleasure at my discomfort, her horrible lunch.If Wyatt wanted to be her friend or have a professional co-worker relationship with her, I could probably let that slide.But, instead he, according to Atlas, flirted with her non-stop and she, also per Atlas, didn’t seem into it at all, thank God, but was very polite.Of course she was.
Atlas gave me the lunch run down, while I scrolled through her emails, both her work one and her personal one.She doesn’t have many texts, her thread with me sitting at the top, is followed by her mom, dad, brother, and the name Victoria.I know from Atlas’ report that Victoria is an employee at Silver State Publishing.My Lindy girl is making friends.Femalefriends.Good.
But then I see it.
