“Oh. Okay, be there in a while.”
We hung up, and I went back to rinsing my hair. Farley Scanlon’s throat was cut. I didn’t think the guy they found in Earl Walker’s trunk, who was supposedly Earl Walker, had his throat cut. But he was also burned beyond recognition, so who was to say for sure? Murderers usually stuck to one MO. Earl Walker had beaten that man to death with a baseball bat and, months later after Reyes’s trial, had beaten his girlfriend to death with a bookend. But there was never any mention of cut throats. Maybe the knife was just handy.
Wait a minute. I may have gotten a man killed. I was indirectly responsible for a man’s death. Maybe Farley Scanlon was my guardian, the one Sister Mary Elizabeth was talking about. I hoped not, because he really didn’t like me. Then again, it hadn’t been two days, eleven hours, and twenty-seven minutes. I still had time to be indirectly responsible for someone else’s death. Thank the gods of Olympia.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I heard a deep voice say.
Startled, I swiped at the water on my face and glanced around the shower curtain. Reyes Farrow stood leaning against my vanity, arms crossed over his wide chest, his hair mussed, his jaw unshaven, quite possibly the sexiest thing in existence. My knees weakened as a slow grin spread across his face.
He scrutinized the curtain. “Didn’t I get rid of that?”
He was referring to my last shower curtain, which he’d slashed through when he was still able to leave his body incorporeally and wreak havoc across the lands with his ginormous sword thingy, not to be taken metaphorically. I’d refused to come out from behind the shower curtain, and the shower curtain paid the price for my impudence.
“This one is new,” I said, a warning in my voice. “And I like the length.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
“I was talking about the curtain,” I said, though my heart skipped a pertinent beat at the reminder.
He waited a long moment to answer, studying what he could see of me. “Right.” He was wearing a green army jacket and camouflage fatigues, probably had hit a Salvation Army store, and he looked tired. There was a slight discoloration under his eyes, and I found myself wondering again where he’d been staying.
I turned off the water and reached for a towel. He wrapped a large hand around my wrist and stepped closer, his mahogany eyes glittering with interest. “You look good in wet.”
I fought to cover myself and to control my racing pulse. His heat snaked up my arm as he opened my hand and kissed my palm. His stubble tickled against it.
“How’s your wound?” I asked, mesmerized with his mouth and the incredible things it could do to a simple palm.
The intense look that landed on me was so powerful, it took my breath away. “Better than other parts.” His voice, deep and rich, felt better than the warm water that had been rushing over me moments earlier.
Since I didn’t have an ETA on the hand he’d taken captive, I dropped the shower curtain and grabbed a towel with the other. His head tilted to the side for a better look.
“One of the men on the list you gave me was found dead this morning. Murdered.”
He thought a moment, then wrapped my hand into one of his and dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Farley Scanlon,” I continued. “You might have warned me good ole Farley was psychotic.”
“He was a friend of Earl Walker’s. I’d have thought it apparent,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, your faithful dog was on your ass the whole way, right?”
I pulled back my hand and wrapped the towel around me. “How did you know that?” I thought a moment, then stared in astonishment. “Are you following me?”
He stepped back to the vanity and crossed his arms over a wide chest. “I thought he was following you.”
“He is, but it’s not his fault. Garrett’s following orders.”
“Garrett’s following you,” he said, casting me a glance from underneath his dark lashes. When I pressed my lips together, he acquiesced. “Fine, then whose fault is it?”
“Yours, actually. Why do you think he’s on my ass? And you show up here? You’re lucky you haven’t been arrested yet.”
“Your boyfriend’s not out there,” he said, gesturing with a nod of his head. “That other guy’s hardly a threat. He’s asleep in his car.”
I rolled my eyes. Garrett really needed to screen his applicants better.
“And what the hell were you thinking, getting into that car?”
“That was you in the shadows?” I should’ve known. I really should’ve. “Are you just begging to get caught? Because I can call my uncle right now and we can be done with this whole thing in a blink.”
“I have no intention of getting caught. How was he killed?” he asked, changing the subject midstream.
“Tragically.” I grabbed another towel to dry my face.
“Was his throat cut?”
I froze. How did he know that? “Yes.”
“With what?” he asked.
“Probably something really sharp.” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Is that what he does?” I stepped out of the shower, and Reyes’s gaze wandered to my lower extremities.
“That’s what he does,” he said without looking up.
“I thought Earl’s MO was to bash people in the head.”
“Only when he has an ulterior motive.”
“He’s tying up loose ends, isn’t he?”
“Don’t go back there,” he said, lifting a corner of the towel.
After slapping his hand, I asked, “Where? Corona?”
He’d grinned when I slapped his hand. “Yes.”
I took the towel and tried to sop up the dripping water from my hair. “I have to. The sheriff wants to talk to me.”
He snagged the second towel from me, draped it over my head, and started to rub, his hands kneading, massaging. He moved closer, and I couldn’t help but take hold of the jacket he was wearing. For stability purposes.
“Don’t go,” he said again, only this time it sounded more like an order.
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
“It’s not a suggestion.”
What was it with men and their belief they could order me around? I pushed back the towel and leveled a hard stare his way, trying to decide if I should clock him. I did owe him one, though I rarely had a steel pipe or an eighteen-wheeler on me when I needed one. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I poked his chest with an index finger to emphasize my point.
He paused, his jaw tensing visibly, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything else. He probably knew payback was a cold hard bitch and ever so slightly overdue.
“You look tired,” I said, grabbing the towel, “and you need a shower.” I turned and left him standing in the bathroom, the disappointment in my loins palpable. Five minutes later, the shower came on.
I dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a caramel button-down, and a killer pair of wraparound Dolce & Gabbana pumps with a low heel that looked part boarding school rebel and part naughty librarian. It tickled me to know that Cookie salivated every time she saw them. I had a wicked cruel streak.
Reyes emerged from the bathroom in wrinkled yet clean clothes and a smooth jaw. His hair hung in wet clumps around his face.
“Better?” he asked, stuffing his dirty clothes in a knapsack.
“Yes, but you still look tired.”
His brows rose playfully. “Have you looked in the mirror?”
He was right. I looked horrid. Self-induced insomnia was hardly attractive.
He laughed and surveyed every inch of me. After dropping the knapsack, he stood straight, his long arms at his side as he watched me unblinkingly. “You should come here,” he said, his voice velvety smooth, beckoning.
It was an invitation that I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. He stood there, all noble and godlike and otherworldly, and before I could say no, I took a minuscule step toward him.