Her chuckle was full of bitterness. “How? Are you going to catch the real killer and turn him in?”
“Maybe,” I said with a grin. “But let’s say that’s a next week sort of project. Right now, all I want to do is see you.”
She shook her head, but I already had it figured out. It was stupid simple, tried and true. I lifted her face in my hands, turning her eyes up to meet mine, and smiled down at her.
“I have an idea,” I whispered and pressed my lips against the spot beside hers.
Not the full thing.
Not crossing lines.
Not breaking boundaries.
Just close enough that she could almost remember what it was like to taste me.
Chapter 11
“Did you drop this? There’s dirt everywhere! You’re really going to make your mom clean this up?” Dad glared at the thin film of dust on the table which had fallen off the case of beer when I’d set it down.
“Or you could do it,” I muttered under my breath.
He shot a flinty-eyed look at me. “What?”
“I said, ‘or I could do it.’” I smiled benignly at him and went to the sink for a rag. Spinning the tap, I dampened it and rung it out before returning to the table to clean up the mess my dad could have taken care of his damn self.
He watched me warily as I worked, lifting his beer to wipe away whatever dirt might have gathered underneath the carton. “What’s the matter with you today?”
“Didn’t sleep much, that’s all,” I said. “Probably going to go to bed early, since I have to be in my room by eight and all.”
His thick brows drew together over his sharp, sober eyes. He’d only been home from work for half an hour—long enough to eat and start feeling the pinch of withdrawal. I always worried that there would be a day when he would decide that the discomfort wasn’t worth it, and he’d end up taking booze to work with him and fall off a ladder or something.
“Right. Eight. I told you that.” It came out as half a question. I saw an opportunity, but I didn’t take it. I had bigger fish to fry.
“Yes, you did. For my own good, I believe was what you said.”
He shifted his gaze back and forth for a moment, trying to remember the specifics. He’d get all caught up as soon as he was drunk, and when that happened, I knew I’d better be in bed. After all, Kash’s plan relied on my obedience—at least temporarily.
“Right,” Dad said. “Well, you need the sleep anyway.”
“Yes, I do.”
It took him about four hours to remember everything that went down the night before. I had been in my room for two of those, listening to music just loud enough to block out the sounds coming from the living room, and reading my book—which turned out to be largely disappointing, but I was glad for the opportunity to decide that for myself—when he slammed my door open without warning, releasing a cloud of alcohol-soaked BO into my bedroom.
I put the book down and raised my eyebrows at him, fighting the bile that rose in my throat. “Hello to you, too.”
He glanced around the room. “Anybody in here with you?”
I frowned at him. “Just me and my book, Dad.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and stomped in. It was more than just an invasion of privacy, it was an invasion of trust. Not that I’d had any reason to trust him, but I didn’t exactly have reasons to distrust him either.
His drunken steps carried him deeper and deeper into my room. A heavy thud landed him on his knees as he checked under my bed, which wasn’t even tall enough to hide a cat underneath. Grunting and groaning, he pulled himself up and stumbled his way over to my closet. His grip slipped a few times as he tried to cup the handle of the door, which resulted in him cursing at the bloody thing. When finally he got the door open, he was, once again disappointed. Eyes narrowed on mine, he slammed it shut. Finally, he checked the window, opening it and sticking his head out to look in the flowerbed below. The screen had broken off the window years before, and he’d never bothered to replace it. At least he couldn’t say I’d done it on purpose.
He eyed me as he stumbled back over to my door. “Okay. Just making sure. Can’t be too safe. Goodnight, now.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
Mom was watching from the hallway, lurking on the edges of our interactions as usual. I wondered what she would do if they ever escalated. I wanted to believe that she would step in and slap some sense into him, or at least call the cops—but I strongly suspected that she would just stand there with that blank look on her face and watch the whole thing play out. I wondered for the millionth time if he’d ever hit her. She sure acted like he had. The feebleness. The silence. They were all telltale signs of a woman who’d put up with too much. Deep in my mind, though, I doubted it. Mom had been the way she was ever since Hunter died. Well, he didn’t just die. He was killed. I couldn’t blame her for becoming the way she had. She lost a lot. Things even the toughest and strongest people sometimes never recovered from.
When my father lost interest in my doings and wandered back to the living room, he left the door open. Mom stood there watching me for a whole minute before she decided to come to my door. She stepped inside just as far as she needed to grab the handle, then offered me a very polite smile.
“Sweet dreams, Daisy.”
“Thanks, mom. You too.”
There were some questions I might never be brave enough to ask.
She closed my door gently—quite the feat, since my dad’s violent entry had left
