Page 22 of Blood & Kisses

“What happened, and how did you do it?” I ask bluntly because I’m sick of messing around.

“Do what?” Blake asks innocently, breaking off another can of beer from the plastic rings.

A growl comes from the back of my throat that I barely have any control over. “Guys,” I fume. “Be real with me. Please. What happened?”

“Rae,” Cormac’s calming voice in a sea of chaos, “we’ll discuss it over dinner.”

“Are we expecting Gabe for dinner? Does he know what you two did?” They exchange glances, but I don’t catch the expressions, so I’m still none the wiser.

“Nah, he’s working late,” Cormac replies, his back turned, taking out a string of pasta to test.

“Does he always work late? I mean…does he work the graveyard shift every night?” The memory of him dropping that man from the apartment window plays like a movie in my head, often when I’m trying to sleep. That moment still haunts me, not because a man died, but the motivation behind it. Did Gabe let him go deliberately, or did I imagine it? Would he tell me the truth if I asked him?

Blake nods. “Gabe’s a vampire, preferring to hunt skullduggery after dark.”

“So…is he…seeing anyone?” I raise the question and notice a twinkle in Blake’s eye.

“Why?” he smirks.

“I haven’t seen him with anyone, and this house lacks a woman’s touch,” I answer, reminded that I forgot to bring the pot plants home from the glasshouse to lay my mark on it, even if it’s for a week or so.

Cormac pipes up, “Yeah, he hasn’t had a decent relationship since Mom died.” The conversation ends as Cormac scoops up the pasta onto plates. Even though I’m eager to discuss this further, now is not the right time because I need to get the Pig’s murder off my chest.

Cormac loads three plates with pasta and sauce, and we sit at the table. I’m used to eating on my bed while the TV runs mindless junk to escape into, so this seems so formal. “I couldn’t find a TV in the house, so…”

“Nah,” Cormac answers, dragging out the chair opposite while Blake sits beside me. “He hasn’t gotten around to getting one since he moved in.”

Gabe’s life seems empty and lonely – work and nothing else to pull him out of his workaholic head. His job is essential, but there must be a balance, especially living near the lake.

“So…the Pig,” I start. “Explain.”

Several beats of silence pass as if they expect the other to say something. Being cautious and withholding information won’t work for me. I need to know everything and won’t keep asking questions until I’m satisfied.

“Gabe recognized him,” Blake is the first to speak, “in the photograph. He used to work with Gavin here in the Torres Police Department.”

“Oh? I didn’t think the picture was clear enough to identify any of them,” I sigh as an urge comes over me to recheck the pic to see how clear the faces of the other two men are. The only reason I let the boys examine the picture was that I was sure it didn’t reveal much, apart from the blond girl in the middle, the victim. Gavin’s face is the most visible of all four men, and Gabe recognized him in the pic. This raises the question, “Did he identify anyone else?”

Cormac swallows his pasta and sauce, sips his beer, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before answering, “Not sure.”

His answer doesn’t fill me with confidence. “Okay, so start from the beginning. When did Gabe it was Gavin?”

“Straight away,” Blake answers, pointing his fork at my untouched plate to encourage me to start eating. I’m hungry but hungrier for their explanations and motivations behind the killing. “He mentioned it later on when you weren’t around. Clocked Gavin immediately but asked us to siphon his location out of you.” He looks to Cormac. “We got nowhere there, ay?”

“Yeah,” Cormac replies with his mouthful. “The testament of a good person is how well they keep a secret.”

“Really?” I challenge. “I think it depends on the secret.”

He nods in agreement. “Maybe. But in this context, if you can keep your secret, it means you can keep ours since the exposure of one secret will incriminate the other.”

Blake screws his face up, perplexed by the overworded explanation. “What?”

“You know what I mean,” Cormac replies stiffly, shoving another mouthful of pasta into his mouth as I wound a string around my fork.

“Why did you decide to hunt him down and kill him?” I ask, genuinely curious, then shovel the wad of pasta into my mouth while the two boys watch me splatter sauce all over my chin.

“To end your nightmare,” Blake answers, clears his throat, and adds, “and we felt that you maybe…needed help after…you know…what happened with Lyons.”

“I don’t need help,” I argue, hoping they’d agree. “I did a reasonably good job eliminating Lyons.”

---