Ellie
As scared as I was, Ringo did one thing well.Piss me off until I wasn’t shaking anymore.And even if I was still shaking, I could blame it on being angry.
Yet, he brought tacos.
Was that enough to forgive him for following me?And I didn’t buy his whole schtick about following someone who was following me for one damn minute.He had to be following me first in order to spot whoever it was.If it was anyone at all.
I replayed the last half hour in my head.While I hadn’t figured for certain if someone actually followed me on my ride home, obviously someone, specificallyhim, evaded detection.How could I concentrate?He’d showed up at my bar, sat in my favorite chair, and let’s not forget somethingreally important, the FBI were targeting me…again.
How would I avoid their notice with an assassin dumping takeout on my table at two A.M.?
My nerves were shot.During my usual sweep of the house to check windows and confirm the bar was in place to lock the sliding door to the patio, I thought I saw something in the parking lot.But aside from one or two new cars in the lot, nothing seemed out of place.Until I swore I heard someone by the dumpsters.
That was my one complaint about this place.I’d bought it before realizing that my unit’s bedroom was right next to where the garbage trucks backed into the short alley at seven A.M.,everyTuesday.
I owned a bar that shut its doors at two and had a nightly cleaning routine.Do the math.
And right after that noise, there wasnothing.Which was more than odd, it was terrifying.Because if there had been the expected noise of a garbage bag landing inside with its clanging echo, or the crunch of footsteps walking away, or even the rusty creak of someone pushing the wooden gate closed, then I would have relaxed.
But there was no sound.
Not out there.It was all in my head.My imagination supplied a horror-soundtrack complete with heavy breathing and an ominous music bed perfectly designed to scare the shit out of me.
I’d finally written it off and was getting ready for bed when Ringo buzzed the intercom.
No one friendly used my intercom.They called.Even the food delivery people called or texted.Duh.
Then I heard his voice and lost my damn mind.
Why did I let him in?
Savory slow-cooked beef was not a valid excuse.
Bone chilling terror?Plausible, but wimpy as heck.
EVS?
Quite possibly.But an empty vagina was easily solved.
I had the mortifying suspicion that the real reason I opened that damn door was because my dumb broken heart had poisoned my entire body and was slowly taking over my brain.
A flesh-eating zombie virus would be more welcome.
Ringo handed me two extra-spicy sauce packets as I unwrapped my second taco.
I didn’t move.He set them down next to the crumpled wrapper and continued eating as if he hadn’t just shoved the foundations of my soul ten feet sideways.
There were three varieties of sauces to choose from, and he picked the right kind.Proving he was not only observant, but damn him, watching out for my needs.
Or maybe he was just manipulating me?
Whatever.Eat first, question the dubious morals of an international hitman later.
He’s the kind you think can protect you, but they only draw you into the darkness.Casey’s words rang through my brain.
“Do I have sauce on my chin or something?”Ringo asked.
Busted.But two could play at that.I picked up a napkin, spit on the corner and wiped his face.
