Page 5 of Blood & Kisses

“I’ll take her,” Blake answers for me. “She needs to finish her coffee, and I need to have a little chat with her.”

“Cool,” Cormac agrees, leaving us alone as I sip the frothy coffee and hum at the flavor.

“That hit the spot,” I say as Blake takes Gabe’s chair and leans forward with his forearms resting on the table, watching me with those friendly, warm eyes. “Spit it out.”

“Huh?” he beams, running those eyes over my froth-covered lips. “Spit what out?”

“The thing you want to say to me,” I snipe at him. “It’s on the tip of your tongue.”

He pushes his tongue inside his cheek as he deliberates, still watching me devour the coffee that is like a spa to my soul. “Alright,” he clears his throat to make a big fuss. “How did it feel?”

“How did what feel?” as if I didn’t already know.

“To kill the man that hurt you bad two years ago,” he adds, the smile fading from his face replaced with a shadow spiced with anger.

I watch the froth dissolve in my cup as I ponder the feelings I’ve stuffed down for some time. “I have mixed feelings.” He waits for me to expand, and I do my best to explain. “Death solves one problem but creates others.” I’m still shaky from shooting and wrap my hands around the warm cup to soothe my skin. “But…I’m not satisfied, and I won’t be satisfied until every man in that photograph and the man holding the camera has paid for what he did.”

He nods in understanding. “Alright. Thanks for your honesty.”

“There’s nothing you or them can do to stop me either,” I add for reference.

He shows me his palms like he’s surrendering. “I wouldn’t dare stop you, but…ah, you need help.”

“No, I don’t,” I argue.

“Yeah, you do, and it’s not your choice anymore. Now that we know what your plans are,” he croons, cocking his eyebrows. “We wouldn’t want you to stuff up like you almost did this morning.”

“I think you’re exaggerating to make it seem like I can’t do this without you,” I conclude to make me feel better about it.

“Murder comes at a price, sweetheart,” he insists, “and I’m not letting you do this without us.”

“Are you saying I don’t have a choice?” I ask, licking the froth off my bottom lip as those eyes of his drink me up.

“That’s right, pretty lady, so you better get used to it. And…ah, where did you shoot him, if you don’t mind me asking?” he’s far too polite for his own words. I guess that’s part of the character of a thief who charms old ladies out of their hard-earned money, although he has never given me a clear definition of what exactly he steals.

I point to my temple. “His head kinda rolled about a bit, and I thought he was still alive, but the gunshot sound would’ve alerted some people living nearby, so I thought it a good idea to hit the ground running.”

“But he’s dead?” he turns stern. “You’re one hundred percent sure you killed him?”

“He better be,” I reply.

“Did you check his vitals?” he asks as my nerves bounce about making me feel sick.

“No, I did not want to touch him, but his head flopped forward, and blood flowed, and I did not want to prolong the exercise by trying to feel for a pulse,” is the excuse I’m giving him when the real reason was that I was terrified that if I put my hand in the car, he’ll grab me. I was shaking and in shock, and I needed to hit the pavement and flee the scene.

“Alright, okay,” he nods slowly, unconvinced. “I’m sure Gabe will ask a couple of the officers on the case how much they know, and then we’ll go from there.”

“And do what?” I ask, my stomach swirling with giddy nerves. Reality is hitting hard, and I don’t like it.

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, shrugging those shoulders causally. “Whatever needs to be done. Now, hurry and drink up so I can take you to class…” he checks the time on his phone, “because I have some errands to run, including discreetly cruising by your crime scene.”

“I bet you’ve seen plenty of crime scenes in your lifetime,” I mock about his career as a thief as he rises to his feet, swiping on his phone.

“You have no idea, little lady,” he crows, never taking what I say personally and mostly jovial unless the subject is important and serious. “C’mon, now, let’s get moving.”

3

The first class is in the glasshouse propagating leafy, tropical plants, and usually, I’d be in heaven, but today, I’m on edge. My ears listen out for every voice spoken and every squeak of a door, waiting apprehensively for someone to mention or react to the murder. It’s eerily quiet, likely because the students in this plant biology class wouldn’t know famous coach Lyons if he fell over them. But it doesn’t help my concentration much, expecting a policeman to walk in and tap me on the shoulder while retracing my footsteps this morning. I didn’t touch Lyons so that I wouldn’t have left DNA, and I was covered head to toe in disguise, but where my plan is flawed is my getaway car is registered to me and is now parked outside my apartment building. If I wasn’t so upset about what Lyons did to Lucy, I would’ve bought a cheap car from someone out of town and dumped it somewhere once the deed was done.

---