“I think we need to leave now.” I grab Jess’ arm and try to pull her back. I need a computer, I need to find out who Nixon is. But I need to do all that without Jess giving birth from stress. “We’ll come back later. I’ve gotta talk to Soph.”
“No!” Abby jumps forward and grabs Jess’ other arm. “I prepared a bouquet for Jess. I spent half the night making it. Don’t make that in vain!”
“Who was that man that was just in here?” Abby’s eyes widen when I speak directly to her. “Name, age, rank.”
“Rank…?” She looks to Jess, then back to me. “How do you… Um… Nix is a lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant what?” I reach to my back pocket for my phone. “Under whose command? Where is he based, and when the fuck is he shipped out again?”
“Um… here.” Abby’s voice shakes as I release Jess and prepare to call Soph. “And never.”
“Army? Navy? Air?”
“Army?” She repeats dumbly, then shakes herself and meets my gaze with a smile. “Army! Oh my gosh, no, my brother isn’t military. He’s a firefighter.”
“Your brother?” Jess’ breath explodes out on an exhale. “Oh my shit. He’s her brother.” But her relief is only momentary as she pauses and narrows her eyes once again. “Biologically, right? You came from the same womb, and all that?”
“Of course! Whose womb do you think we came from?”
“I don’t know!” She gently pries her wrist from Abby’s hold and steps back. “Okay, he’s her brother.” She turns to me. “Step down. He’s her overprotective big brother, and you set off his alarms. You’re a giant, and you were giving him the stink eye because Kane made you promise to push everyone away.” She turns back to the florist after rolling her eyes at me. “Whew! Abby, please show me the flowers.”
“Your brother asked you out to dinner? Nope. Something stinks.” I don’t move a single inch when Jess waves us off and wanders away.
Abby wants to follow her, but I hold the waifish girl captive and cast a fresh eye over her body.
She’s… fucking bland. Shapeless. She wears jeans that are too big so it looks like she’s a 1950’s housewife… who shit herself. Herblouse– because it’s totally a blouse, and not a shirt like the rest of us wear – is buttoned from top to bottom and has an embroidered flower on the breast pocket. Her belt wraps around her tiny waist and folds back again, because there’s too much leather and not enough hip. She wears black Nikes to finish out her Susie-homemaker look, and a gold, rose-shaped pendant around her neck, and though it’s not a rosary, her church girl looks make me think of one.
She’s a walking cliché, a minister’s daughter, no doubt, and understandably terrified of the inked and scarred thug who graces her pretty store.
But her lips… well, they’re not churchy or innocent.
If she’s Abby, as Jess continues to call her, then she’s the legal owner of this establishment, which means she can’t possibly be sixteen like her looks imply. I was trained to profile, and I consider myself decent at it, but I can’t get a feel for this chick.
Except for the church thing.
“My brother asks me out to dinner all the time,” she sniffs. “We’re close, and we like to make sure the other eats well. Why is that an issue for you?”
“Because that story is pretty standard for girls who are too afraid to narc on their man. He’s twice your size and has a bad attitude.”
“And you’re even bigger than that,” she snaps.Haughtily. Her words arehaughtyand stuck up, and I’m not sure I’ve ever used that word as a descriptor in my life. “You’re the one with the bad attitude. I don’t even know you, but you think you can come in here and demand answers.”
“Spencer.” Jess waves from across two long rows of flower arrangements. “Say sorry to Abby, then come over here and look at my pretty flowers.”
“Uh, no.” I glance back to Abby. “I’m not here for flowers. I’m here as personal protection and to keep you away from abused girls who keep inviting abusive exes into their life.”
“Spencer!” Jess spins. “What theeffis wrong with you!?”
“He isnotmy boyfriend,” Abby snaps. “He’s not abusive. And you, sir, are no longer allowed in my store. Leave, before I call the police.”
“The police?” I step closer and look down at her. Her eyes are level with my pecs, her body tiny enough I could literally lift her over my head with one arm. “You mean Alex Turner – the guy I was hanging out with last night over a game of cards?” I won’t tell her that game was Go Fish, and not something a little more masculine. “I’ve earned trust with the PD, little girl. You still call them ‘the police,’ which means they aren’t your friends, and you have questionable decision-making skills with boyfriends.”
“Oh my gosh, he’s not my freakin’ boyfriend! I’mnotin an abusive relationship. And even if I was, you’re a horrible human for making out that Ichooseto be hurt. You’re…” She struggles to find the insult she wants best, only to finally settle and slam her hands to her hips. “You’re not a nice person at all!”
If I had pulled this shit on Jess, she would have thrown a grenade at my head. Literally. Without the pin. But all this churchy girl has is that I’m ameanie.
“I never said I was nice, Miss Priss. I said you can’t lie for shit, no matter how much your man wants you to.”
“MissPriss?” She throws her head back like I smacked her. “How dare you?”