“She moved back here. Close to here, anyway.”
“That why you’re here?” I ask him. “Are you looking for her?”
“No, not looking,” he answers me but still doesn’t look at me. “I know where she is.”
A breeze rushes by, causing his coat to slip open for a moment. His badge shows, just as the gun in his holster is on display for the moment. He shifts and buttons up his coat as he talks.
“I’m looking for someone else. A man named Marcus. He’s the one who saved her.” He rolls his shoulder back as he says “saved” and a grimace mars his face. “He’s the one who got her out of that mess.” His gaze finally meets mine when he adds, “He got her into it though. He used her, and then claims to have saved her.”
His jaw clenches and an anger I haven’t seen from him is left unchecked. It’s evident in the way his shoulders tense, plus the way he breathes out heavily. And in his voice when he says, “Marcus put her through a hell that I can’t even imagine surviving.”
Emotion drenches his confession and I can feel the vendetta that wages war in his eyes.
“What is it you want from me?”
“I want Marcus.” His answer is immediate. “Anything you have on him.”
I swallow, hesitating and Officer Walsh shakes his head with disgust. “You know him. I know you do. I’ve read the files and all the paperwork. For a decade or more, you and your brothers’ names have been right there along with his.”
“Sure,” I tell him, “Names on paperwork. But Marcus doesn’t have a face, he doesn’t have a number to call, he doesn’t have a location. There’s not a damn thing I can give you on Marcus.” I’m surprised by the resentment that laces itself around every sentence that’s spoken.
“If I could hand over Marcus to you, I would. Because I don’t know what he’s thinking or why he does the shit he does,” I say with finality, and then question my own statement.
Officer Walsh considers me for a long moment, maybe waiting for more.
“I don’t have anything for you, Officer.”
“If you’re not with me, you’re against me,” he responds lowly. “You know that?”
“Words to live by,” I comment with a nod and this time I’m the one staring off into the woods.
“If you do find something, would you even consider telling me?” he asks and I can feel his eyes burning into me.
“I wish you all the luck in the world,” I tell him and then breathe in deep, debating on answering his question truthfully, lying or simply not answering at all. I settle for the last option and ask him, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“What’s that?” That’s the first thing Bethany says to me as I set the large cardboard box down in the middle of the bedroom. She didn’t respond when I walked in; she remained under the covers, in the same position she was in when I left.
Her brunette hair tumbles down her body as she raises herself off the bed. Off my bed. That knowledge does something to me, as does the white light from the open curtains kissing her skin.
“Did I wake you?” I ask her rather than answering her question. The look of sleep plays on her face, making me eager to get in bed with her. As she sits up, crossing her legs in bed and pulling the covers into her lap, her baggy sleepshirt falls off her shoulder and she has to readjust it.
“Only for a minute I think. It’s been hard getting to sleep,” she answers as I climb into bed, and it groans with her words.
“Just a single minute?” I tease her, wanting to put a smile on her face. She gives me a small one, accompanied with the roll of her eyes. It’s my cue to lean forward, taking a single kiss from her. She’s still guarded, still giving me questioning gazes and still stiff when I reach out and place my hand on her thigh.
Tucking her hands into her lap she doesn’t answer me, she only shrugs and then those hazel eyes look up at me, peeking through her thick lashes.
“I went to your place,” I say to change the subject, getting off the bed to go to the box and needing to get away from the look in her eyes.
I grab the pills out of the box. They’re years old; we don’t even make sweets in the pill form anymore. But I would never throw this bottle away. “I thought you may want some more of your things. Grabbed some mugs, your throw blanket, stuff like that.”
She says thank you softly and then clears her throat to say it again louder.
“You brought my mugs?” she questions me with her brow furrowed and it only makes her look cuter. Her legs are bare as she makes her way to the box, the t-shirt stopping just past her ass.