Page 115 of Evil Bones
At four, I showered, then spritzed myself with the Jo Malone London Rose & White Musk Absolu body spray Ryan had gifted me on my last birthday. Applying it in the only correct way, according to Harry. Pointing the nozzle into the air, then stepping into the cascading mist.
Birthday suit, birthday spray, some cluster of neurons chirruped as the tiny droplets settled on my skin.
I know what you’re thinking. But it had been weeks since Ryan and I had been together. My mind was as bubbly as newly uncorked champagne.
When Ryan phoned at quarter past five, I set out for the airport.
I’d just turned onto Woodlawn when I noticed a black Honda in the rearview mirror.
Other images flashed. A black Honda Accord on the circle drive outside the Annex. Another leaving the Red Rocks Cafe.
Something had bothered me at the time of the second sighting. Was it coincidence? The same vehicle? If so, did it mean anything?
Having caught part of the plate, I’d done some half-hearted research but learned nothing. Deciding that I was being overly suspicious, I’d forgotten all about it.
You’re acting paranoid again, Brennan.
Without thinking, I hung a right.
The Accord hung a right.
I made a left.
The Accord made a left.
Heart skipping a little faster, I sped up.
The Accord stayed with me.
CHAPTER 26
Ryan’s plane arrived ahead of schedule. A gate was available.
An aviation miracle.
Le monsieurcame down the ramp wearing jeans and a blue-plaid flannel shirt. Except for the bare ankles and Hokas, he looked like he’d dressed for timbering in Belarus.
I had to smile. And inwardly shake my head. No matter how often Ryan visits the Carolinas, it seems he’s unable to retain a picture of summer in Dixie. Or maybe his Quebecois soul rejects the concept of intense and prolonged heat and humidity.
Ryan and I aren’t prone to public displays of affection. PDAs, as Katy would say. Still, we greeted each other warmly.
Though the flight had landed early, the checked baggage took forty minutes to hit the belt. Ryan’s duffel was not among those that did.
By the time Ryan made his way up the queue and filed a lost luggage report, it was going on seven. I was no longer in the mood to cook. Or, being honest, to watch Ryan cook.
He wanted tacos, so we stopped at Azteca, my favorite of Charlotte’s many Mexican restaurants. And one that was directly on the way home.
I chose the chicken enchiladas. I always do. Ryan ordered Chile Verde extra spicy. Complained when the peppery sauce burned his mouth.
As we ate—Ryan sweating and pounding Dos Equis across the tablefrom me—I filled him in on developments in my life. Katy. Ruthie. My recent cases at the MCME.
Ryan told me about his current investigations. One involved money laundering. Another insider trading. Yet another identity theft.
I smiled and nodded encouragingly, but only half listened. I find the subject of finance boring as hell.
The briefings were, well, brief in both directions. It hadn’t been forty-eight hours since our last phone conversation.
We’d just begun our usual battle-for-the-bill ritual when my mobile buzzed.
