“There was a murder. That’s why she dragged me away this morning,” I inform him, inclining my head to look up at him.
A shadow passes through his eyes, fleeting, but it was there. “Another one?” Concern draws his brows.
I nod. “Looks like a serial killer.”
He looks away, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t a serial killer have to kill more than two people?”
I stop walking, looking up into those eyes of his. “Three or more actually.” Is that common knowledge?
“You want me to drive?” He’s casual, this topic not shocking or surprising to him.
“Are you a cop?” I blurt out.
Large eyes spring wide. His broad chest shakes as he laughs out loud. It’s genuine, deep and rumbling. He places a hand to his stomach. “God, no.” Amusement glimmers in his eyes, making them impossibly bright. Such a beautiful man.
“What does that mean?” I reach out without thinking and pick a piece of lint from his jacket. My hand and body still when he stops walking and places his hand over mine before I can pull it away.
“It means I’d never be a cop. I don’t trust them.” I want his touch to last forever, but I know it’s impossible. Within seconds, he releases me, and the echo of his touch dances over my hands. “Did you want to go back and get my car?”
“No.” I shake my head, gesturing forward. “She lives a couple blocks down.”
“Who is she?” he asks, blowing on his hands to warm them.
“A girl who hasn’t been showing up for her shift. With everything that’s going on, I want to make sure she’s okay.”
He reaches for my arm, halting us from proceeding. “Shouldn’t we call someone else to check on her, like authorities?” he asks, his tone controlled.
“I have to know she’s okay,” I tell him, pulling away and continuing without him. He catches up to me and places his hand on my shoulder. It’s comforting and warm. I want to curl into him and feel protected in his hold. “Thanks for coming with me,” I murmur almost under my breath.
“I’m glad your friend asked,” he tells me.
We walk in silence, heavy anticipation hanging in the air between us. What if she’s not okay and I walk into another crime scene?
“It’s this one.” I nod to her house. It belonged to her grandma who left it to her in her will. It’s large, the grass overgrown, curtains pulled, blocking the view inside.
His hand comes down on mine, pulling it away when I go to open the gate. “Don’t touch anything. Stay here, okay?” he urges, his expression filled with confidence. He’s not scared of what he might find, and it’s oddly comforting.
“Okay.” I pull at the sleeves of my top, covering my hands and folding them under my armpits so I don’t pick at the scabs on my palms.
Clark pushes open the gate with his foot and goes inside. He cups his hands, trying to look through the front window. Moving to the door, he knocks, then opens the letterbox and calls out, “Hello?”
Nothing.
Looking back at me, he shrugs, scratching his head. “I’m going to go look around the back. Wait there. Don’t move.” It’s a command, not a request, and strangely sends my heart stampeding.
“Yes, sir.” I raise a brow.
“Please,” he adds, placing his palms together. I nod, and he disappears from view. Anxiety eats through my stomach. I nibble my thumbnail, looking around the street, debating if it’s worth asking the neighbors if they’ve seen her. Minutes pass, excruciatingly slow. God, what if he managed to get inside and she’s dead in there? A lock unbolting sends a flurry of apprehension through my blood. The door opens, and I hold my breath. Clark’s beautiful frame fills the space, and then Gaby slips past him, waving her hand. Oh, thank god. She gestures for me to come inside, and I almost cry at the sight of her.
Once inside, she hugs me, beaming from ear to ear. “I’m sorry. I was napping.”
“Where have you been?” I exclaim. Looking around the old-fashioned décor, you can practically taste the dust in the air.
“It’s a long story. Well,…not that long. I met someone.” She beams.
I look at Clark. His shoulders are stiff as he looks to the shaggy carpet at our feet, then back to her. “Really?”
“I’m moving. It’s fast, I know, but I’m running out of baby-making years, so I decided what the hell?” She’s animated, slapping her hands together, nudging farther inside the house.
“Lizzy thought you’d been killed by a serial killer,” Clark mumbles. I nudge him with my hip when Gaby’s face falls. Hitching a shoulder, he mouths, “What?”
“He’s joking,” I lie, “but you could have called one of us.”
“Oh.” She giggles, copper ringlets bouncing around her face. “I was going to call. It just happened so fast.” She cringes.
“Well, Jeff has given your position away, so I guess it’s meant to be. Good luck. Call us once you settle?” I give her a brief hug.
“I will. Again, I’m sorry for not calling. I was going to.”
“We’re just glad you’re alive,” Clark states, patting her shoulder and exiting through the front door. Gaby follows his departure, her mouth agape.
“See you,” I say again, waving as I follow Clark.
When we’re back on the street, Clark places a hand to his chest. “I really thought I was going to find her in a bathtub or something.”
“I’m sorry.” I grimace. “I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Everything has been so grim lately.”
Studying me, he says, “I heard about the guy falling in our apartment building, I saw you at the station.”
“I know.” I smile, but it drops when I think of Lee. He didn’t fall.
“Did you see anything that night? Someone in the building or looking suspicious outside?”
Scratching the back of his neck, he shakes his head. “I was just getting home and saw the commotion. Did you know the man?”
“No, not really. He
