dropped those specific ingredients off at my place before I came out to drag you away from the rats.”
I buckled my seatbelt and adjusted the heater as Jack did a u-turn on the graveled drive and headed towards his place. “Pretty damned sure of yourself,” I said.
“What can I say, babe? When you’re good, you’re good.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning, I had a sugar hangover that would’ve done any teenaged boy proud. My teeth felt gritty, and little men were dancing across my skull. I couldn’t narrow down the reason for the headache—there were many possibilities. One of which could have been the wine I’d used to chase down the S’mores.
I’d taken the upstairs guest bedroom that looked out over the trees and all the way down to the water line. Mostly because I thought it would be nice have something to look at as I waited for night to pass. I messed up the covers a little so Jack wouldn’t worry, but I’d sat most of the night in the overstuffed chair next to the windows. I’d dozed off and on like normal, but real sleep was a thing of the past. It didn’t help that I could hear Jack tossing and turning in the room next to mine.
As soon as the sky started to lighten, I headed into the shower and tried to do some damage control with makeup so the dark circles under my eyes wouldn’t be so prominent and people would stop commenting on them. My face was pale and my cheeks gaunt, and if I stared too hard I could still see the bruises the exact size of fingerprints around my neck. I stood back and looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I was too thin. I traced the outline of my ribs, almost as if it were someone else’s body instead of mine.
I put the thought out of my mind and hopped in the shower under the hot spray, hoping when I got out and stared at myself again I’d look a little more like a human instead of a day old corpse.
When I padded out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick white towel, the duffle bag I’d left in the back of the Suburban was sitting on the bed.
“Oh, shit.” I’d completely forgotten about the boxes I’d brought home with me. They weren’t safe for public consumption, much less Jack’s law-abiding eyes. I needed to get to them fast and get rid of them like I’d planned before I’d gotten distracted by murder and S’mores.
I dressed hurriedly in jeans and a soft, button-down grey shirt the same color as my eyes. Thick socks and my worn boots came next. I shoved all my belongings in the closet to tidy up, ran my fingers through my hair, and called myself presentable enough. The smell of coffee greeted me as I opened the bedroom door, and I headed to the kitchen to get that first rush of artificial energy.
“You’re up early,” Jack said, cracking eggs into a hot pan on the stove. He turned and gave me a once over from head to toe while I went to the cabinet to get the coffee mug I always used. It was an oversized black mug with a white chalk outline of a body and yellow crime scene tape.
“I don’t know if up is the correct term,” I said. My voice was always at its worst first thing in the morning, and it was hard to live with such an in your face reminder of something I’d just as soon forget.
I shuffled to the coffee pot and poured the hot, black liquid all the way to the rim. I didn’t blow on it or let it cool. I just drank it down and waited for the life to come back into my body.
Jack brought plates to the table and we both sat cozily in the little nook, our knees touching companionably. My stomach growled loudly at the sight of eggs, sausage and toast. My arteries might hate me later, but the rest of me was grateful he’d decided to forgo his usual oatmeal. He never even put sugar on it. I shivered at the thought and took another drink.
“Have you thought about going to talk to someone?” Jack asked, blindsiding me while my mouth was full.
“About what?” I evaded.
The look he gave
I buckled my seatbelt and adjusted the heater as Jack did a u-turn on the graveled drive and headed towards his place. “Pretty damned sure of yourself,” I said.
“What can I say, babe? When you’re good, you’re good.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning, I had a sugar hangover that would’ve done any teenaged boy proud. My teeth felt gritty, and little men were dancing across my skull. I couldn’t narrow down the reason for the headache—there were many possibilities. One of which could have been the wine I’d used to chase down the S’mores.
I’d taken the upstairs guest bedroom that looked out over the trees and all the way down to the water line. Mostly because I thought it would be nice have something to look at as I waited for night to pass. I messed up the covers a little so Jack wouldn’t worry, but I’d sat most of the night in the overstuffed chair next to the windows. I’d dozed off and on like normal, but real sleep was a thing of the past. It didn’t help that I could hear Jack tossing and turning in the room next to mine.
As soon as the sky started to lighten, I headed into the shower and tried to do some damage control with makeup so the dark circles under my eyes wouldn’t be so prominent and people would stop commenting on them. My face was pale and my cheeks gaunt, and if I stared too hard I could still see the bruises the exact size of fingerprints around my neck. I stood back and looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I was too thin. I traced the outline of my ribs, almost as if it were someone else’s body instead of mine.
I put the thought out of my mind and hopped in the shower under the hot spray, hoping when I got out and stared at myself again I’d look a little more like a human instead of a day old corpse.
When I padded out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick white towel, the duffle bag I’d left in the back of the Suburban was sitting on the bed.
“Oh, shit.” I’d completely forgotten about the boxes I’d brought home with me. They weren’t safe for public consumption, much less Jack’s law-abiding eyes. I needed to get to them fast and get rid of them like I’d planned before I’d gotten distracted by murder and S’mores.
I dressed hurriedly in jeans and a soft, button-down grey shirt the same color as my eyes. Thick socks and my worn boots came next. I shoved all my belongings in the closet to tidy up, ran my fingers through my hair, and called myself presentable enough. The smell of coffee greeted me as I opened the bedroom door, and I headed to the kitchen to get that first rush of artificial energy.
“You’re up early,” Jack said, cracking eggs into a hot pan on the stove. He turned and gave me a once over from head to toe while I went to the cabinet to get the coffee mug I always used. It was an oversized black mug with a white chalk outline of a body and yellow crime scene tape.
“I don’t know if up is the correct term,” I said. My voice was always at its worst first thing in the morning, and it was hard to live with such an in your face reminder of something I’d just as soon forget.
I shuffled to the coffee pot and poured the hot, black liquid all the way to the rim. I didn’t blow on it or let it cool. I just drank it down and waited for the life to come back into my body.
Jack brought plates to the table and we both sat cozily in the little nook, our knees touching companionably. My stomach growled loudly at the sight of eggs, sausage and toast. My arteries might hate me later, but the rest of me was grateful he’d decided to forgo his usual oatmeal. He never even put sugar on it. I shivered at the thought and took another drink.
“Have you thought about going to talk to someone?” Jack asked, blindsiding me while my mouth was full.
“About what?” I evaded.
The look he gave
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