by S. E. Harmon
“Mason made a large withdrawal from his bank account before he went missing,” I said. “I was never able to find an explanation for where that money went. Maybe he intended to pay.”
When Danny didn’t respond, I glanced over. His eyes were closed, breathing deep and even. He always looked so young and peaceful when he slept. I looked my fill, wondering how such an irascible human being could be so fucking adorable. Then I started feeling like a creepy stalker and elbowed him in the side.
He came awake with a start. “Wha?” He groaned at my expectant face and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What? What is it?”
I repeated my thought, and he nodded sleepily. “That withdrawal was substantially less than what Luke owed. Maybe this bookie wasn’t the patient type.”
“So you think Mason tried to make a deal, and Watts made an example out of him?” I tapped my chin, thinking some more. “But if that’s the case, why did he kill Hunter too?”
“Maybe Mason brought him along as backup,” he said around a yawn. “Mason was naïve, but even he had to realize Watts was dangerous.”
I toyed with that theory for a few minutes, going over the possibilities in my mind. Then I shook my head. “You can’t make an example of someone if no one knows you killed that person.”
“You expect him to get I Killed Mason Paige, Come At Me Bro silk-screened on a T-shirt?”
“I expect the informant to have heard a rumor at the very least.”
“Then maybe we’re offtrack.”
Danny sounded like he’d checked his fucks given balance and came up with zero. Sure enough, his eyes drifted shut again.
I came across a particularly interesting entry under Known Aliases that sent my eyebrows skyward. “Get this. One of Watts’s monikers is The Hammer. And here we are with a vic that has blunt force trauma to the head. Coincidence? I think not.”
Danny didn’t respond. I sighed before elbowing him again.
“Jesus Christ,” was how he came awake. “Vampires sleep more than you do.”
“I don’t think they actually have a hard time sleeping,” I said, clicking through Jeremy’s checkered history. “I think the lore is in reference to the time of day that they sleep.”
He squinted at me. “What or who doesn’t sleep a long time?”
“Umm… insomniacs?”
“Then insomniacs sleep more than you do.”
“Duly noted,” I said. “We need to find this Watts guy. I want to know if that debt was ever settled.”
“Sounds good,” he murmured, eyes already closed again.
I worried my bottom lip with my teeth. I still hadn’t talked to him about my conversation with Tate, and I knew I needed to. There was no need to sugarcoat it. Danny was a straight shooter who appreciated… well, straight shooting.
“Danny? D?” When he didn’t respond, I shook his shoulder. Hard. “Danny.”
“Oh. My. God.” He opened bleary eyes and dropped his feet off the coffee table. “You should be indicted for war crimes against humanity. I’m going back to bed.”
“Tate is trying to shut us down,” I blurted.
He didn’t look all that surprised. His words confirmed it. “I know. She bent my ear at the dive site.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Probably the same reason you didn’t tell me,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “I also didn’t want you to feel pressured.”
I sighed. “So what’re we going to do?”
“Same thing we always do. Get in the Mystery Machine and solve crime, Scooby.” His mouth quirked. “You let me run interference with Tate.”
“But—”
“Trust me.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “With my life,” I said truthfully.
“Good. I know how to handle Tate.” His expression was almost fond. “I’ve been with her a long time, and she’s more bark than bite.”
Yeah, but some of those bites came with a side of rabies. And speaking of rabies…I looked at him pointedly. “Just so you know, I would be Velma. You would be Scooby.”
“I think I’m more of a Fred, really.”
“Everyone knows Fred and Daphne were fucking like rabbits. You sure you’re up to that?”
He paused. “Maybe I’ll just be Shaggy.”
“Like, Zoinks, that’s a good call, Irish.”
He chuckled and kissed me on the nose. “I’m glad you approve. Are you coming to bed?”
I was tired. And I certainly needed rest for the next day, which was already promising to be another long one in a series of long ones. But as soon as I closed my eyes, I knew he’d be waiting. He’d be there with clawed fingers and desperate eyes, ready again to plead for a life already taken.
Help me. I don’t want to die, die, die.
I bit my lip. “Maybe in a little bit.”
He gave me a searching look, but in the end, he only nodded. And really, what else was there to say? Physiology was stronger than fear. I couldn’t stay awake forever, and I couldn’t outrun my own dreams.
We both knew that.
Chapter 15
I woke to a pair of green eyes extremely close to mine. I had a moment of insanity as I wondered when I’d acquired a cat, what his name was, and why the hell he was so close to my face. Then my vision adjusted, and more of Mason’s features emerged from the shadows.
“Oh, good,” he breathed. “You’re awake.”
“Imagine that,” I said around a yawn. “And maybe we could have a few inches of space between your face and mine?”
He pulled back with a huff. I sat up and knuckled my eyes before peering at my phone. Five in the morning. I tossed it on the nightstand and leaned back on my elbows.
Once upon a time, I was a man who enjoyed sleep. I didn’t have dark circles or bags under my eyes, and I enjoyed buying premium bedding, high thread count only. Even when my pillows got old—and probably gross—it took an act of Congress to get me to throw one out. Once it was perfectly dented for my sleeping needs, you’d have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.
Clearly, those fitful sleeping days were firmly behind me.
“What do you want?” I grumbled.
“While you were sleeping, I thought of a good suspect. Did you check out that scumbag bookie—”
“Jeremy? Yeah, I heard about the problems you guys were having.”
“You know about his record?”
“Yep. I don’t suppose you remember whether you paid Luke’s last debt or not?”
He frowned as he thought. “I know I was going to,” he finally said, “but then I found out Luke already racked up another debt and I changed my mind.”
“How did Watts take it?”
“He gave me a week to ‘make that shit happen.’”
“And?” I prompted when he didn’t continue. “Did you? Did you ‘make that shit happen’?”
“I… I don’t know. But it seems like I would, doesn’t it?”
I sent him a baleful look. “Seriously? That’s all you know? That’s what you woke me up for at five in the morning?”
“Well, forgive me for not solving the entire case single-handedly.” He sniffed. “I gave you a creepy suspect, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did a great job. I’ll just call this in, and they can pick him up before breakfast. Six counts of being creepy in the first degree. Maybe he’ll get the hot shot.”
Mason huffed. “Well, Watts gave me a weird vibe. I don’t think I’d be surprised if he was secretly a serial killer.”
“Being socially awkward isn’t necessarily the hallmark of a serial killer,” I said, still annoyed. “They can be just as likely to disarm you with their charm. It really depends on if the thrill is in the catch or the kill.”
“What?”
“If the thrill is in the kill itself, the catch can just be routine. It’s something the killer has to do to get to the part he likes.” I brushed a wild tangle of sandy blond hair out of my bleary eyes. “If the thril
l is the catch, convincing a victim to play a role in his or her own death would just add another layer of satisfaction.”
Mason shook his head. “You live in a weird world, don’t you?”
It was kind of hard to argue with that, especially when conversing with a ghost sitting on the edge of my bed. Weird didn’t even scratch the surface.
Mason wasn’t the only one glad I was up—my bladder was such a fucking opportunist. I pushed back the covers and swung my feet to the floor. Danny murmured something unintelligible and rolled on his front, burying his face in his pillow. I rubbed his back briefly until he settled and then shuffled to the bathroom.
After appeasing my bladder, my next stop was the kitchen. I punched a few buttons on the Keurig and brewed a cup of strong coffee, scratching at some stubble and making half-assed plans to shave as I waited. I drank my coffee half leaned over the sink. I could hear Danny’s voice in my head, clear as a bell. Give them boundaries, and make them respect them.
Easier said than done.
Mason eyed me judgmentally when I hit the brew button a third time. “The cups are small,” I said. We both looked down at the oversized cup and then back up at each other. “Well, I do put some in my travel mug.”
He had the courtesy not to call me on what we both knew was a bald-faced lie. “So. Where are we headed this fine morning?”
“We are not going anywhere. I doubt if I’ll be able to get back to sleep, so I might as well get an early start.” I scrubbed at my tired eyes. “I want to talk to Casey.”
“You could probably catch him at the beach,” he said with a thoughtful frown. “He likes to walk his dog Eddy over on Lighthouse Point. A real biter, he is.”
“I fervently hope you’re referring to Eddy.” I yawned. “Why does Casey walk his dog so early?”
“He says it’s because it’s cooler before the sun comes up, but I don’t think that’s the only reason.” His voice was quiet. “He doesn’t like for people to stare. He’s very self-conscious about his scars. I always made sure to tell people to fuck off when they stared.”
It was easy to tell people to fuck off when it wasn’t your face that was scarred. I imagined that the stares, pointing, and insensitive questions got very old, very quickly.
Though Mason trailed behind me to the bathroom, he gave me peace to shower, shave, and dress. He reappeared as I was eyeing Danny’s hair products on the sink. More of his stuff had migrated over to my place, and I hadn’t really noticed.
Sumotech. I picked up one of the little black containers and gave it a sniff. Smelled pretty good, actually. It had to be good if No-Frills McKenna spent over a couple bucks on it. He generally liked products that had some form of the phrase “two in one” on the front. He once found a five-in-one body wash and nearly wet himself, right there in Target…at least that’s the way I tell the story.
I sniffed the jar again. With the help of that goop and a plucky brush, he could go from human tumbleweed to rock star perfection in about three minutes flat. Unfortunately, my hair was impossibly straight and refused most styles with revolutionary fervor. #Resist.
I put the jar back and glanced over at Mason, who was pawing through my sparse bin of sundries. His mood really seemed to have taken a nosedive since we started talking about his best friend. I didn’t think that was just a coincidence.
“Are you all right?”
“Hmm? Yeah. Of course.” He pointed to a can of mousse I didn’t remember buying. “Use that. Your hair is too delicate for that heavy gel.”
“Great,” I grumped even as I shook the can and put a dollop in my palm. “So my hair is thin and my dick is average. I treasure our mornings together, Mason, I really do.”
“You know you’re gorgeous.” He smiled. “Imperfections are the best damn parts of people. Perfection is so… blah.”
I couldn’t wait to inform Danny that he wasn’t the shiznit. Silky dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, a perfect smile was so very blah. “Say more things like that,” I demanded as I raked the product through my hair.
He laughed. “Well it’s true. Hell, the things I loved about Casey the most are the things he hated. His laugh, which was really a snort more than anything else. The way he ran, legs and arms flailing. And his smile. He has a crooked incisor that gives it real character.”
I was silent for a moment as I watched him in the mirror. Numerous expressions flitted across his face, and they were all a touch sad. “You miss him.”
“I do. Our relationship wasn’t always easy, but God knows I do.”
I reached for the light and realized my hands were still a little tacky with drying mousse. I rinsed them off and before I could reach for it again, Mason flicked it off for me. “Okay, how did you do that?” I demanded.
“I might be feeding off your energy. We all do,” he said, albeit a little sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You’re emitting all this crazy light, and it draws spirits to you like a beacon. It’s so bright and clean and pure.”
Bright and clean and pure? “My energy?” I checked, just to be sure.
His mouth curved, presumably at the thought of harvesting all that delicious energy. “It’s the most blindingly beautiful thing a spirit can see. You have so much of it that it’s hard not to take some for ourselves.”
I furrowed my brow as I mulled over his words. I didn’t know how I felt about being a bit of an SAT type analogy—Ghosts are to Ornery Detective as Moths are to Citronella Candle.
“What happens if I don’t control that light?” I asked. “How much energy could a spirit take? And what could they do with it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should see someone who does,” he suggested at my silence.
I sighed. Fantastic. Even a ghost thought I should see a guru.
He started to fade, and I knew I didn’t have long. “Mase. That crazy energy you talked about… the one I’m emitting. What does my energy look like?”
“It’s too hard to describe.”
“Try.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, as he struggled to find a word. “Salvation.” His eyes looked a little wet as he swallowed hard. “It looks like salvation.”
He shimmered and disappeared before I could formulate a response.
Although normally a tourist hot spot, the early morning hours left the beach almost deserted. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, and the weather was cool and crisp. In an hour or two, that gentle breeze would grow stagnant. Things would take a sharp turn toward hot, and slowly meander toward blistering. I would be long gone by then. True enough, I could’ve used a little more sleep, but there were certainly worse ways to spend a morning than watching the sun rise over the water. After a moment of indecision, I left my loafers in the car, and headed down the sandy slope toward the water.
A few joggers struggled through the wet sand, and I admired their dedication—didn’t want any part of it, of course, but admired it. A woman was mid complicated yoga pose at the water’s edge, her phone on a tripod nearby, presumably recording it all.
Off in the distance, a lone surfer rode a wave and I watched a little jealously. I’d always wanted to learn but never quite made the time. Well, that wasn’t one-hundred-percent true. Part of me didn’t relish the whole Russian roulette aspect of the surfing deal. I didn’t want to be that surfer telling my story on the Discovery channel about how a shark took a chunk out of me because he thought I was a seal. I’d pretend to forgive him because I was “in his home,” all the while secretly wishing I could harpoon his test-biting ass.
I zeroed in on Casey walking a small dog in the distance. I picked my way across the sand to intersect with them. He watched as I approached, looking a bit apprehensive. His oversized tank billowed in the breeze, and his wildly patterned shorts were damp in certain spots. His skin was slightly dusted with nature’s glitter of sand and salt.
I eyed the little dog growling under his breath, who seemed to have taken a disliking to me immediately. Maybe Danny was right. My seeing eye dog
would walk me into traffic.
Casey’s eyes glinted in amusement as he took in my apparel—slim fit black trousers and a fitted grey button-down. In deference to the heat, I’d rolled the sleeves to my elbows. “Lost much?” he asked.
I couldn’t exactly interrogate someone in board shorts and thong sandals. I cleared my throat. “I thought I’d catch you early so we could have a little chat. Do you have a few minutes?”
It was a rhetorical question. Judging from the way his mouth tightened, he picked up on that. “Absolutely. Can we walk and talk? Eddy might get a little impatient.”
The little dog gave a sharp yip as if he meant business. I knew I’d better agree or risk some sharp teeth in one of my tailored pant legs. I inclined my head and we started a slow walk down the beach, with Eddy darting ahead of us and looking surprised every time he reached the end of his tether and was jerked to a stop. Casey watched him with a small smile.
My gaze drifted over his scars again. The thick white-ridged lines crisscrossed his left cheek from eye socket to chin, and the edges were pink and shiny. He gave me a quick smile before he switched to my left side. He did it so smoothly, I knew he probably did it often.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I said quietly.
His face was carefully blank. “Do what?”
“Hide your scars.”
“Don’t I?” His gaze was decidedly cool as it flickered over me. “You flinched the first time we met.”
Only because my face reacted without my permission. His nonchalance made my heart squeeze. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for people to flinch at the sight of my face, but clearly it was an everyday occurrence for Casey. I struggled for a few seconds with what to say next.
Some of that internal debate must’ve showed on my face because he gave me a twisted half smile. “Don’t worry. I know it looks pretty awful.”
“I think it looks pretty brave, actually.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Captain Courage.”