Did she make the buzzing noise?
“I just have to toss your clothes into the dryer,” she said as she pushed off the couch.
Fink had fallen asleep with Sydney in his arms.Somehow, he’d gotten comfortable enough to actually drift off blissfully.Granted, he’d been awake for over twenty-four hours, but still.That was nothing.He’d done that often.
The reason was Sydney.
She made him comfortable enough to sleep in a strange place.
What kind of sorcery did this woman wield?Had she drugged him?
Unlikely.It’d been hours since he had drunk the juice she’d given him.If she had, it would’ve worked sooner.“What time is it?”
“Like, five-ish,” she said as she opened the circular door to the dryer stacked atop the washer.
Dinner.No wonder his stomach rumbled.“How long was I out?”
“Maybe an hour or so.”
He shifted, and his muscles screamed.They wanted nothing more than to keep on resting.Too bad he couldn’t do that.
Arching his back, he raised his arms.The long stretch offered a brief reprieve from his soreness.That was the thing about pulling all-nighters; they left him aching.He wasn’t a young buck anymore.This lifestyle had taken its toll on Fink.
“Your fridge is empty,” he commented as he ran his hands along the prickly stubble of his chin.
Typically, he preferred a smooth-shaven look, but he was without resources.Though, he supposed Sydney had a razor.In theory, he could use it, but….Would that be weird?Probably not, but he’d much prefer his own blade from his preferred brand.Fink was a creature of habit and liked things his own way with his own stuff.Which he didn’t have.He’d have to remedy that sooner rather than later.
“I know,” she groaned.“I’m not one of those doomsday stockers or someone who coupons.Mood eating is more my jam, so I roam the aisles when I’m hungry or order out.”
“That’s expensive,” he commented.
She chuckled.“It can be.”
“We have to get your car,” he recalled out loud.They’d left it at the scene of the crime.It couldn’t remain there without someone questioning it.
“Did you want to wait for your clothes?”
Glancing down at the pink-and-purple flannel pants that were a bit snug for his liking, he pondered what to do about his attire situation.It wasn’t exactly wise to show up at a murder scene in the same outfit he had committed the killing in.Even if they were washed.
“No.We can go now,” he said as he stood.
She slammed the dryer shut and turned toward him.“Okay, did you want a sweatshirt?”she asked.
He patted his bare chest.Considering he had a substantial amount of ink decorating his skin, he would be noticeable, but he didn’t have to get out of the truck.
He scrubbed the back of his neck.“Yeah.”
Nodding, she disappeared into her room.
Coming up with plans on the fly wasn’t Fink’s strong suit.He much preferred to concentrate and work out thirty-five angles before he ever made a move.Sydney had shot that to shit.
Yet, he wasn’t mad about the situation.
While not comfortable for him, he made do.They hadn’t been arrested yet, and there’d been cops at the door.He considered that a win.If there was anything he could use right now, it was something going in his favor.
From her bedroom, Sydney emerged wearing a bulky, faded pink hoodie and offered him a ball of black cloth.
Accepting the garment, he unraveled it and tugged it on without so much as a second glance.He didn’t care what she’d given him as long as it covered his features.He yanked the hem a few times before pulling the hood over his head.
