I stood up, my heels sinking into the trash as I brushed something I hoped was coffee grounds from my coat. Nick laced his fingers together and hoisted me out. He landed softly on his feet beside me and stripped off his gloves, tossing them back over the lip.
“I cannot believe you brought me here to go digging around in the trash.”
“Come on!” he said, hefting the bags. “You can’t tell me you’re not having fun.”
I rolled my eyes and turned for the car. Nick caught up to me. He dropped the bags as he reached for my arm. Turning me gently toward him, he boxed me in between his body and the side of the restaurant. “I brought you here,” he said, his voice falling low, “because you wouldn’t let me make you dinner at my place.Youwere the one who made me promise it wasn’t a date.”
I laughed as he plucked a piece of trash from my hair. He threaded his fingers in mine with a tenderness I hadn’t expected from him. Our laughter quieted, and a heavy thought seemed to pull on his brow.
“That’s not the only reason I invited you,” he confessed into the narrowing space between us. “Last month, when you came with me to the lab, and to the farm, and on the stakeout… when I busted you coming out of Theresa’s house…” He shook his head, as if that memory still surprised him. “That was the most fun I’ve had with anyone in a long time. Don’t get me wrong. Joey’s a great partner. But I wantedyouriding along with me tonight. I wanted you there when I picked a fight with Zhirov’s attorney and went diving in his dumpster. Call it dinner. Call it a date. Call it research for a book. Call it whatever the hell you want, Finn. Whatever it was between us, I miss it.” It was hard to breathe when he was standing this close. Close enough to smell the warm hops on his breath over the stench of garbage on our clothes. “I’m sorry our date got cut short,” he said, his thumb tracing lazy patterns over mine. “I’d love to make it up to you. Maybe over dessert at my place?”
My belly was pleasantly full, and my muscles were warm and loose from the vodka. And I had no desire whatsoever to go home and deal with Carl. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d had funtonight. I slid my hand from Nick’s before I agreed to something I’d regret.
“I should probably get home. But thank you for dinner,” I said, hugging my coat around me. “Or maybe I should thank Feliks.”
Nick laughed, a hint of disappointment in his smile. “Right, I promised. Just dinner this time.” He leaned close, bending to pick up the bags, his breath warm against my ear, making me shiver when he said, “But next time, Finn, I’m not making any promises.”
CHAPTER 24
A single light was on in the living room when Nick dropped me off in front of my house. He idled in my driveway as I walked to my door, watching as I fumbled in my handbag for my house keys. As I slid them into the lock and turned the knob, a gas station receipt slipped from the doorframe. I bent to catch it before the wind could blow it from the porch, my steps faltering when I recognized the handwriting on the back.
I waved goodbye to Nick and ducked inside, silently slipping off my shoes and setting my handbag on the hall table when I noticed Vero sleeping on the couch. Her body was curled around a library book, the reading lamp still on beside her. I carried the note to the kitchen and held it under the night-light above the stove.
Just got back. Tried to call. Your mailbox is full. Talk tomorrow?—J
I read it again. Nosorry I disappeared for a week? Nohad a great time but I wished you were there? What didtalk tomorrowmean? If there had been a kissy emoji or a flame, maybe I’d have a better grasp of the subtext. But after being gone for a week and locking me out of his profile,talk tomorrowfelt disappointingly… casual.
I reached for the house phone, my fingers hovering over the keypad. I’d never called him from my home phone before. I’d nevereven given him the number. My cell phone felt secure and private, only my own. Calling him from my house line felt like an invitation inside my home.
I reached to put the phone back in the cradle when I noticed the message light flashing. I held the phone to my ear, wincing at the horrid smell coming from my coat sleeve.
Finlay, it’s Sylvia. I haven’t gotten your twenty thousand words yet. They’re due by Monday, and I expect them to be fabulous. And don’t forget the hot cop.
“Fat chance of that,” I whispered. Monday was less than two days away. She would have to settle for ten thousand crappy ones. The only two men I wanted to think about right now were far from hot, and their names were Ben and Jerry. I took a spoon from the drawer and opened my freezer, head tipped curiously as I stared inside.
The food was gone, the frozen waffles, vegetable medleys, and nuggets all mysteriously absent. And worse, there was no trace of my Cherry Garcia anywhere. What had Vero done with all the food? On second thought, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I shut the freezer and trudged to the coffee maker.
A sticky note hung from the pot. Vero had scribbled a dollar sign and the outline of a tooth. I swore quietly, set the coffee to brew, and tiptoed upstairs to the laundry closet to shed my foul-smelling clothes.
An overly sweet aroma wafted out as I slid open the door. Two heavy-duty air fresheners—the kind we used to mask the smell of Zach’s diaper pail—sat on the shelf over the machines. The mountain of unwashed towels we’d used to sop up water from the kitchen was piled beside them, mildewing on the floor. I stripped off Vero’s dress and lifted the lid of the washer. Bags of frozen broccoli and peas, loose cubes from the ice maker, and a pint of Chunky Monkey stared back at me. The corner of a black trash bag peeked out from under the tater tots.
With a shudder, I shut the lid, my fantasies of taking Ben and Jerry to bed officially ruined by the crime scene that had once been my washing machine.
The dryer, thankfully, contained nothing of Carl. I reached inside, dragged out a wrinkled T-shirt and pulled it over my head, then scraped a few crumpled dollar bills from the lint catcher. A small plastic disc slipped out with them. It was thinner and smoother than the ones in Delia’s game. I turned it over, squinting at the logo in the dim light of the dryer—THE ROYAL FLUSH CASINO HOTEL.
I frowned at the poker chip in my hand. Vero said she’d checked the forum over Thanksgiving weekend from a business center in a hotel. And she hadn’t spent the weekend with Ramón. Was this where she’d gone? If so, why hadn’t she told me?
Creeping into Delia’s room, I tucked the stiff bills under her pillow. It wasn’t the two hundred dollars she was expecting, but it was better than an IOU for a cash advance from my broken credit card. I paused beside her bed, toying with the black chip from the casino as I watched my daughter sleep, remembering what she’d said about Vero losing a marker and making someone mad. Those words had resonated with the same ominous tone as Vero’s hushed conversation with Ramón that morning, when he’d told her someone had gone to her mother’s house looking for her.
A seed of worry planted itself inside me as I wondered what it all meant. Brushing back Delia’s hair, I placed a kiss on her head before tiptoeing to the hall.
I paused in front of Vero’s bedroom, standing at her cracked bedroom door, listening to the house.
You’ve got some stranger you met less than a year ago living under your roof… What do you really know about her?
Quietly, I nudged her door open. It hadn’t been locked, I told myself. And this was my house, after all. Vero had more than onceadmitted to snooping around in my laptop and my nightstand. I was only going to leave the casino chip on her desk, where she’d be sure to find it.
