by Lacey Dailey
“What?” I pressed. “What doesn’t make sense?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look at this.” He thrust his hand out. “I mean, really look at it.”
I turned my head. “I am looking, B.”
“What exactly are you seeing, Brett?” Cruz’s tone was harsh. The Puerto Rican honey did not like being left out of the loop.
“Okay. Roll with me for a second.” Before I could blink, Brett was leaping onto Cruz’s platform. A collective gasp played in the back of my head. My man had balls. That was for sure. I popped my neck and clenched my shaky fists, worried I’d have to go save my boyfriend from getting a keyboard shoved up his ass.
Shock rooted me in place when Cruz simply moved over and let Brett point at his screen.
“Look here. Both of the seatbelts are pulled out. Not just one. Both. They are sagged so low, they’re practically touching the surface of the pavement.
“And?” Cruz prodded.
“And.” Brett made a noise of frustration. “Why the hell would the seatbelt be hanging like that if it wasn’t pulled across somebody’s body?”
“Maybe it was just an after effect of the accident, sugar,” I suggested. “Wouldn’t the police know by DNA or some shit if another person was at the scene? Not to mention launching a search if they thought he walked.”
“And an injured person wouldn’t get far,” Cruz pointed out. “Not with any kind of broken bones or internal injuries.”
Brett held up his hands. “I don’t have all the answers. When I’m a police officer, I’ll get them for you. Right now, I can tell you by the sag of the seatbelt, and the crack of blood on both the steering wheel and the passenger side dash after faulty airbags neglected to disengage, there was another person in that car. Christ, you guys, look at the blood smeared on each of the headrests. It looks like two people got their heads bashed in before they blew backward, and made contact with the dash again. The fact that Kade was even lucid enough to climb out of the car is mind-boggling.”
Holy fuck, my mind was spinning like a merry-go-round on crack. Once Brett pointed them out, the signs were blinking back at me, making themselves known like a neon sign in the dark. How Brett’s brain could see those clues and make something of them was beyond me. I knew he was reading up on the basics of forensics, but the way he was talking sounded like something straight from an episode of CSI.
“Don’t you think forensics would’ve tested all the blood in the car?” August argued. “Maybe it’s hand smears from when Kade crawled out.”
“Maybe.” Brett shrugged, refusal to believe that was stamped on his face. “Or maybe there was someone else in the car.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, Brett.” Sage stood up and smoothed her hands down her shirt in a nervous gesture. “Either they disappeared into thin air or jumped into the river feeling strong enough to swim to safety.”
“I said I didn’t have all the answers yet, sis. I’m just saying the possibility of a passenger is there, and it’s too strong not to at least look into.”
“I’m not sure where we would start, mano,” Cruz sighed. “I’ll look into the blood and see if tests were run. Maybe there’s something there.”
Brett clapped Cruz on the back. Boy, was I wrong when I thought Brett might be intimidated.
“Thanks, man.” He cleared his throat. “I just think a couple of years in prison and a few minor injuries when he should’ve died was not enough of a trigger to send him underground. Unless something happened when he was in custody? Which is also a possibility.”
“We will look into all of it,” I promised.
“Zoom in!” Like a race car passing the checkered flag, Sage flew across the room and shoved Brett aside, gesturing to Cruz. “Zoom in! Right there!” She ordered, stabbing the screen with the tip of her skinny finger.
He looked at her, a bit uncertain, and zoomed in on the area she was signaling so aggressively toward. “What’s going on, Sage?”
“Look!” She jumped and pointed like she spotted two unicorns fucking in the rearview mirror. “Do you see that? Brett? Do you?”
His lips pulled together in question. “Yeah, I do. Looks like some sort of metal or stainless steel chain hanging off the seatbelt. A necklace maybe?”
When Cruz enhanced the photo, I finally saw what they did. My eyeballs landed on what looked like a type of chain a guy would wear around his neck all tangled up in the vinyl of the seatbelt. Almost like it broke off when somebody was trying to set themselves free of the seatbelt’s confines.
“It’s a dog tag,” Sage announced. “It’s Kade’s. He would wear that damn thing all day and night. Never took it off.”
“Like real dog tags?” Cruz asked. “Military?”
“Yeah. Kade was never in the military and never once mentioned it, but they were definitely military tags.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember the name on them but I know it was Wilson and the address was an address in Virginia.”
“It’s okay, sis.” Brett gave her a reassuring smile. “That alone is a huge help.”
“Let’s look through evidence records,” Cruz suggested. “He was probably wearing them when they brought him into custody at Terre Haute. It had to have been recorded. We will go from here.”
“How’d he get it back from the car all those years ago?” I mused. “Did it fly away and into Washington Corrections Center?”
“Police probably collected all the personal belongings they could save,” Brett answered. “It’s typical to look for wallets or information that could have medical needs in them. My guess is they saw those and grabbed them thinking they were his.”
I dropped into my chair. I felt like I was getting whiplash and there was still so much to uncover. “It still doesn’t answer why this accident was so important he felt the need to email me about it.”
Brett cleared his throat. “Maybe it has something to do with who was driving the car. Because it sure as shit wasn’t Kade.”
I balked. “I’m sorry?”
“Think about it, babe. His necklace is wrapped around the seatbelt, he barely sustained any injuries. To get out of the driver side alone would’ve been next to impossible. He either would’ve had to break his legs or somebody would have had to have yanked him out." He stared at the screen with sure eyes. "There was somebody else driving that car, and whoever it was, Kade kept them hidden.”
18
Ace
I danced around my massage table, my sandals clapping against the floor. My fingers drummed with the tune I was humming in the back of my throat while I worked.
“Can you, like, shut up? Your good mood is annoying me.”
“No can do, Randall.”
His arms flailed where they dangled off the table. “I would rather you ask questions.”
“If a fork was gold would they call it goldware? Or would it still be silverware?”
“I take it back. Proceed with your humming.”
I smirked and rounded the table, pumping more oil in my hands. “That’s what I thought.”
“If I die of a brain bleed, my mother is right over there to witness it.”
“Could you be any more dramatic, dude?” I breathed out a laugh and put pressure on his calves, the heels of my hands making circles in his muscles. “Just because you’re a sourpuss doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to follow suit.”
A world of Randall Hardwoods.
I shivered. What a dark, dark world that would be. And I’ve witnessed a lot of horrendous shit in my day. I massaged the crevices of elderly people for a living and spent my nights with a bunch of nerds staring at websites that listed children for sale. I knew what made a man’s stomach churn. Randall’s hatred for people was slowly skirting toward the top of the list.
Probably because it was another one of those bullshit things I couldn’t prevent or change. I had to let Randall and his hatred for all humans run its course. Unfortunately, he was still stuck in a teenage vortex of too m
uch porn and bad first kisses. It could be a while before he’s officially able to break free.
“Could you be any more annoying?” he drawled.
“People used to tell me I made a lasting impression on them, ya know?” Whether that impression was good or bad remains unknown.
“What people? Deaf or dumb people?”
“You’re a little shit.”
He gasped. His neck squeaked against the face cushion when it tilted in an attempt to peer at his mother. Linda was oblivious to our conversation, scrolling through her phone while munching on a KitKat. Either that, or she was doing one hot job of keeping a neutral expression. Looked to me she was sleeping with her eyes open.
“Mom!” Randall barked. “Did you just hear that? Ace called me a little shit!”
“Hmm. Did he?” She sucked chocolate off the top of her fingers, not bothering to glance upward. “Stop acting like one then.”
I hooted in laughter and gave Linda Hardwood a mental high five.
“Traitor,” he mumbled, flailing so hard he rocked the table.
“Relax, dude.” I gripped his shoulders. “I can’t do my job if you’re laying still as steel.”
I got a middle finger as a way of response. “Why are you so happy, anyway?” he bitched. “New hand lotion come in the mail?”
“Love.”
“Love?”
“I’m in love and even you and your teenage angst can’t bring me down.”
He grunted when I moved to massage the muscles in his upper back. “That poor, poor woman.”
“He’s not a woman.”
His body mimicked a plank of wood. I removed my hands and took a step back, resting the urge to face palm myself. I never discussed my personal life with clients. Not ever. But that sentence just sort of rolled out of me. Like my heart couldn’t handle even one person thinking its love belonged to anybody but Brett.
“You’re gay?” He sounded bewildered. Completely flabbergasted there was even a possibility I wasn’t attracted to women.
It made me chuckle.
“Yep.” I popped my knuckles, my hands slippery from the oil, and stepped towards him again. Once a few beats passed and I was confident he or Linda weren’t gonna call me a pervert, I resumed working.
He kept quiet for a long time. It wasn’t until I bent my arm and pushed my elbow into his muscle when he spoke two words that almost sent me flat on my ass.
“Me too.”
I worked harder than I ever have not to react. Or to make a big deal. I didn’t know Randall on a level outside of scoliosis or insults, but I had a feeling he wasn’t looking for a second coming out.
“Oh, yeah?” I kept my voice nonchalant and looked toward Linda from the corner of my eye. At first glance, it looked like she couldn’t be bothered to react to her son sharing personal information with the masseuse he hated. And then I saw her lips pull into a gentle smile.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I wondered.
“No,” he snapped. “I have better shit to do than go on dates. I’m trying to pass tenth grade and avoid getting kicked out for filling classroom keyholes with guerrilla glue.”
Damn. This kid sounded more and more like me every second.
“Maybe you could avoid it by simply not doing it.”
“That sounds like zero fun. Oh, wait.” He lifted his head and sneered at me from over his shoulder. “You don’t know how to have fun.”
My brows arched. If I didn’t know any better, it sounded like this kid was challenging me. “When I was in sixth grade, my mother took me to church. I told her I had to go to the bathroom and stuffed an entire roll of toilet paper in the bottom of a toilet. Just because I was bored. The whole place flooded. I walked out of the bathroom with my fancy church pants drenched up to the knees and a plunger in my hand.”
His body rippled beneath my touch. I heard a sputter and saw his fists clench. Holy shit. He was laughing. Randall Hardwood was actually laughing.
“You’re laughing!” I did a little dance. “Linda! Write this down! Randall is laughing!”
He sat up and schooled his expression. “It’s Randy, you imbecile!”
I blew a misbehaving lock of hair from my nose and pointed in delight. “You laughed.”
“For like a half a second.”
“Works for me.”
“You’re pathetic.” He flopped back down. “Finish your job.”
I resumed what I was doing, zipping around the table to move toward the muscles that caused him the most pain. “High school dating can be overrated,” I said nonchalantly. “I didn’t meet Brett until this year.”
“That’s the sucker’s name? Brett?”
I whopped him across the head. “Yes, little shit. That’s his name. Brett.”
“And you love him?”
“Sure do.”
His voice dropped a few octaves. “What does it feel like?”
“Love?” My eyes widened in surprise. Not because he was curious about being in love but because he was actually voicing the question. Though I imagined having his face in that cushion, his gaze cast downward, made it easier to pretend he wasn’t asking in the first place.
“Yeah. Love.”
I felt a dreamy expression enveloping my face. The question may have shocked me, but I didn’t mind answering it. I never minded talking about Brett. “It means different things for different people, I imagine,” I said, working as I spoke. “For me, it’s the feeling I’m hit with when we’ve spent the day apart and I see him for the first time. Sometimes I get giddy or jealous over inanimate objects because they get to touch him and I don’t.”
“Dude, don’t repeat that. It makes you sound really fucking nutty.”
“Brett makes me a little loopy. If you think I’m exuberant now, you’d be bursting with insults if you ever saw me with my man.”
“I can think of about a dozen derived from that sentence alone. God. I’m not sure I ever want to be in love.”
“That’s what I said, kid. But the more time I spent around Brett, I realized it wasn’t exactly a choice. It just comes out of nowhere and knocks you on your ass whether or not you’re ready.”
“That’s precisely the issue, dingbat. You sound like you’ve been brainwashed by love.”
“I’m not sure I’d care.”
“Exactly. Your stupidity only ceases to amaze me.”
Damn. And I thought we’d turned over a new leaf. “Alright, go home, brat.” I tapped him on the leg. “You’re all set. See you in two weeks.”
He rolled off the table awkwardly and landed in a squat. He snatched the towel I tossed him out of the air and did a haphazard job of wiping himself down. “Later, loser!”
“Goodbye, Randall,” I called, flipping on the sink. “I hope your week is filled with love and promises of forever.”
His face twisted. The towel he was using hit the floor. He flung his shirt over his shoulder and pulled open the door. With one last glance, he sneered at me. “Go fall in a well.”
The door slammed behind his embarrassed mother and I was left alone. I reveled in the peace and quiet for all of two seconds. A staccato of light knocks moved across my door before it popped open wide enough for Tonya to shove her head inside.
“Hey, Ace. I just scheduled you one more.”
“What? No,” I whined. “Ton, really? Thursdays are supposed to be my early day.”
Purple eyes rolled into the back of our receptionist’s head. Every day Tonya came to work with different colored eyeballs made possible by freaky looking contacts. Our boss didn’t seem to mind. She claimed it looked cool. I thought she looked like a scary lizard. “You’re scheduled until five, Ace.”
“Yeah, but I dip out early on Thursdays because my girl is supposed to hook me up.” I flashed her a charming smile I knew wouldn’t work.
“He requested you personally. Said he heard you were the best.”
“Flattery,” I grumped. “It’ll get you everywhere.” I waved her away. “Go
on. Let me sanitize.”
“Word.”
The door slammed shut for the second time in five minutes. I busted my ass sanitizing and prepping for another client, setting out fresh towels before slipping from the room and letting Tonya know I was all set. Her heels clicked against the floor and down the hallway while she went to direct my client to room three. It was standard for me to wait in the lobby or employee lounge while a client situated themselves on the table and covered their bits and pieces.
I drummed my fingers against my thighs while I waited. It was only a few minutes later when Tonya gave me the all clear and I headed back toward my room. Striding down the hall, I wondered which of my regular clients talked me up. It could have been any of them, really. But my bet was on Mrs. Henderson. That woman brought me cookies every time she came for an appointment. Said I had hands of an angel.
I could not disagree.
Rolling my shoulders back and preparing my polite, client voice, I knocked twice before clicking the door open. My throat dried up like the desert during a heat wave as my molten eyes scanned the familiar body lying stomach down on my table.
Sweet honey, Jesus. The Lord was testing my professionalism.
I knew that body. I knew those strong shoulders and defined shoulder blades. I was acutely familiar with the ripple in those deltoids and the shiver that raced down the center of tan skin. Strong calves and lower back dimples taunted me. I stepped inside and pushed the door shut, lapping my tongue to get moisture back into my mouth.
I knew that body.
That body belonged to me.
“Well, hello there.” A seductive smile spread across his face. “Are you the one who will be rubbing warm oil all over my body?”
My eye twitched. “You’re killing me, sugar.”
His chuckle moved through me. “Come on, A. It’s so not fair I’ve never gotten a massage from you. You spend every day with your hands all over strangers. It’s my turn.”
“Pretty sure I run my hands all over you too. In a much, much different way.”
“Well, I sure should hope so. Wouldn’t want to have to kick anybody’s ass.” He rotated to his side. The towel covering his manhood fell to the floor. That flirtatious fucker didn’t even blink.