Page 20 of Nasty
I got dressed, and I ran out of the apartment, my body burning, aching, trembling, shaking. I could barely remain upright as I charged down the flight of stairs at the back of the building. There was a shout behind me, a male voice. I turned around, my heart beating out of my chest, and I didn’t see Peter, standing at the top of the stairs, asking me if I wanted a ride home. I saw the face of a young girl, peering out of a window, her large brown eyes filled with horror.
The walk home should have taken thirty minutes. It took closer to an hour, though, primarily because I was in so much pain. No matter how hard Sixsmith hurt me, the pain had never come close to this. The raw, sharp ache inside my body was mingled with shame, and had wrapped itself around my very bones, until it felt like the agony and the humiliation were going to be a part of me forever.
At Remmy’s, I used the single five-dollar bill in my pocket to buy Amy a chocolate milkshake.
It had melted by the time I walked through the front door.
EIGHT
ON THE LAM
FIX
I nearly yanked the door out of its frame in my haste to get it open. Sera was exactly where I expected to find her, curled up in bed on her side, her dark hair messy and tangled around her head. She looked so peaceful that it was almost a shame to wake her. There was no time to admire her, though. No time for the coffees and toast I’d had to calmly carry out of the diner like nothing was wrong. I’d felt that female cop’s eyes on me as I walked up the road toward the hotel. All I’d wanted to do was sprint back, but I’d had to keep my shoulders loose, my back straight, my head held high, as if I were taking everything in with interest, an out-of-town guy inspecting his surroundings.
Sera jumped when I closed the door, her legs jolting beneath the covers. She looked back at me, blinking furiously. “Fix?”
“Get up. We’re leaving.”
I hurled the toast in the trash can, snatched up our bags, placing them on the desk, and then began shoving our belongings inside them, not paying attention to who’s stuff was going into which bag.
“Why are you stealing my panties?” Sera asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Get out of bed,” I commanded. “Get dressed. We have to get out of here. The cops found the dead guy in the bunker, and they have fingerprints.”
Sera sat bolt upright, eyes wide, now very alert. “You didn’t kill him, Fix. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you kidding me? If those prints are mine, they won’t look any further for their killer.”
Sera swung her legs out of the bed—long, beautiful and toned, her skin begging to be touched. It had felt so fucking amazing to have those legs wrapped around me last night. Even with this urgent need to get into the truck and burn rubber out of Lavelle, I could still appreciate how fucking perfect she was. “Have you really been that sloppy in the past?” she asked. “How would they have your prints on record? From other…incidents?” She didn’t like referencing the fact that I’d murdered many other people. Didn’t want to say the words out loud. It was obvious.
“I’ll explain everything in the car. Now please. I’m about to pick you up and physically fucking move you myself. I’m assuming you don’t want that.”
Her eyes flashed, her back stiffening. “It’d be the last thing you ever did,” she replied. But she moved. She got her ass up, and she moved.
Eight minutes later, we were in the car and hurtling down the freeway at breakneck speeds. Sera didn’t ask questions until we were thirty minutes out of Lavelle.
“I’m really worried, Fix. Should I be really worried?”
“No. Yes. Probably.”
I explained what had occurred in the diner, and I didn’t spare the details. Sera paled when I told her what Monica had said. “So this isn’t over. There’s still someone trying to kill me, and that guy back in the bunker wasn’t Carver.”
“The cops said his name was Anderson. Carver might have been his last name, but…” My gut was telling me it wasn’t. I didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want her to panic. But there had been enough secrets and half-truths already. Keeping this from her wouldn’t do either of us any favors, and she needed to be careful. I was going to be watching her like a hawk from here on out, but she had to be equally as vigilant. “You see anything you think looks suspicious, you tell me. Anyone looking at you, following you. You get a strange feeling about anything, and you let me know immediately. Do you understand?”
She just stared ahead out of the windshield.
“Sera! This is fucking important.”
“Yes! Yes, okay. I’ll tell you. God, Fix.”
“When are you expected back at work?” I asked.
“Two days from now. I took three weeks off for the road trip and for Amy’s wedding.”
“Email them right now and tell them you’ll be back in the office next Monday. Tell them you’re taking some time to relax when you get back to Seattle. Tell them you’ll be back in town tomorrow night.”
“Is that smart? I mean—”
