“Help with what?” Piper almost screamed.
Patrick stopped beside her and sent her a grave look. “Her leg’s broken,” he said. “So if you’re going to stay, I need you to be calm. Understand?”
Everything in her went cold. “Why isn’t she at the hospital?”
“I also need you to not ask questions.” Patrick spared her another stone glance, and then started removing his belt.
“What are you do—”
“No questions.”
Piper decided to keep her mouth shut.
“All right, Celeste.” He bent toward her, and the mask of his face slipped into concern for an instant as he doubled the belt. “Bite down on this,” he said. “I’m going to have to cut your jeans away first.”
Celeste nodded and bit down.
Patrick knelt on the floor next to Piper, pulled the bowl beside him and took out a pair of scissors. There was also an elastic bandage, a bottle of peroxide, a handful of cotton balls, packages of sterile wipes, and a small sewing kit. The sight of that chilled her further. Was this creepy guy really going to give her aunt stitches with a needle and thread? This could not be happening.
He started cutting. And Celeste started screaming.
Piper sobbed and turned away as her aunt’s hand tightened on hers. Whatever this was, it had to be related to the reason Celeste had been so jumpy and paranoid lately. She didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on—but now she was full-blown terrified.
“Well, you won’t need stitches, at least.”
Piper looked back in time to see Patrick frowning at the exposed leg. It was swollen and purple, with an ominous dark dimple just below the knee and a nasty-looking cut with a few smears of blood. Like she’d fallen with a lot of force and landed on a sharp stone…or someone had bashed her with something hard.
“Be better in a minute.” Patrick took something from his jacket pocket. A small brown bottle and a syringe. “Before you ask, it’s morphine,” he said without looking at her.
She decided not to ask where he’d gotten it. Or how he was so good at injecting it.
It only took him a few minutes to get her leg cleaned up and wrapped. By then she was breathing easier, and a little of her color had returned. “Seems like a fairly clean break,” he said. “You’ll need to have it checked…later. Just to be sure.”
Piper let out a shaking breath. “Can I ask questions now?”
“No.” Patrick gathered the remaining supplies in the bowl, set it on the coffee table, and stood. “Say what you have to,” he told Celeste. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
She nodded faintly. “Thank you, Patrick.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” With that, he walked away and headed upstairs.
It was all Piper could do not to burst into tears. “Aunt Celeste, please tell me what’s going on,” she whispered. “I’m really scared.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, sweetheart.” Celeste closed her eyes. “Listen. Go in the kitchen, top cabinet next to the fridge. Get the bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. Okay? Please…and then I’ll explain.”
“All right,” she said uncertainly. But she went.
When she came back, Celeste was sitting upright with her legs straight on the couch. She managed a smile. “Go ahead and pour.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
She filled the shot glasses half full and held them out to her aunt, who took one. “That one’s yours,” she said.
Piper blinked. “You want me to drink whiskey.”
“I think you could use it right now.”
“Yeah,” she said shakily. “Maybe I could.”
“Cheers?”
“This is so not cheerful.” Piper clinked her glass against Celeste’s, then took a deep breath and downed the shot.
It was like drinking fire.
She coughed and spluttered for a few seconds before she got herself under control. “I don’t think I like whiskey,” she rasped.
“Good. Don’t ever drink it again.” Celeste smiled, but the expression faded fast. “Piper, honey…I have to go away for a while.”
“What?” She almost dropped the empty glass. “What do you mean, away? Where? For how long?” A sudden suspicion entered her mind. “Is Patrick going with you?”
“No, I’m going alone,” she said. “Patrick is protecting me.”
“From what?”
Celeste sighed. “I’ve already told you too much,” she said. “Listen, you’ve got to trust me, Piper. Everything will be fine. I’ve made sure all the bills will get paid, and you have your new job at the diner, right?” She smiled. “My car is staying here with you.”
None of this was comforting. “It sounds like you’re leaving for a long time.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how long,” Celeste said. “But I’m hoping it won’t be more than a couple of weeks. And when I get back…well, maybe we can go somewhere else. Together.”
Piper frowned. “You mean leave Covendale?”
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe it’s time.”
The idea still made her heart race and filled her with a sadness she couldn’t shake. She’d been seven when her mother left her on her aunt’s doorstep, with nothing but a small bag of clothes and a note for Celeste. She’d promised to come back. But Piper hadn’t heard a word from her since.
She tried to nod. “Yeah, maybe,” she whispered. “Aunt Celeste…”
“Time to go.” Patrick’s voice boomed down the stairs seconds before he descended rapidly, carrying a suitcase. He set it by the door and walked over to the couch. “Are we good?” he said.
“No.” Piper pressed her trembling lips together. “No, we’re not.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Celeste shivered and looked at Patrick. “Help me up?”
He did. When she was standing, she managed to turn and hug Piper tightly. “I love you,” she said. “So very much.”
“Love you, too.”
Celeste leaned back and kissed her forehead. “Try not to have any wild parties while I’m gone,” she said with a wink.
Piper smiled dutifully, though she didn’t feel it. “I won’t.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
Patrick supported her aunt with an arm around her waist, and she managed to limp along slowly. When they reached the door, she turned and sent a fond look at Piper. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can,” she said.
Then she was gone.
Piper stood there staring at the door for a long moment, unable to process the raw emotion raging through her. There was no way Celeste could have known, but what she’d said had ripped her open, like a dull blade spilling her guts out.
Those were the exact words her mother had used ten years ago—just before she’d walked out of her life forever.
Chapter 1
Covendale – present day
One in the morning rolled around, and Pete’s Diner hadn’t seen a single customer for over an hour. So Piper decided to take her break a little early. She brewed a fresh pot of coffee, made herself a few slices of toast over Nate Sanders’ usual protest that it was his kitchen and he should cook for her, and shut herself in the back room with her laptop—so she could waste the next half an hour searching for answers that weren’t there.
Some people went online to play games, watch videos, post on Facebook, or stalk celebrities. Piper spent her time combing news feeds, researching obscure archives, and reading obituaries. Finding the truth about what happened to Celeste—and who Patrick Stiles really was—had become something of an obsession.
She’d finally accepted that her aunt wasn’t coming back. Just like her mother. Obviously, she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself.
Celeste had kept one promise, though. All the bills were paid monthly, like clockwork, for the past eight years. She had no idea how. But it let her use her own salary, such as it was, to invest in her research.
She’d just logged onto an archive of scanned
micro-newspaper records collected from three different states when the break room door opened and Rose Robinson stuck her head in. “There you are,” she said. “You’re supposed to go on break at two, you know.”
“I decided to go early.” Technically, the much less experienced Rose was the shift supervisor, but only because Piper had turned the position down. There was a reason she’d stayed on the graveyard shift all this time—she didn’t want complications. The fewer people and responsibilities, the better. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, you could’ve told me, at least.”
Piper tried not to roll her eyes at the slight pout in Rose’s voice. The other waitress didn’t really assert her authority often, but she was a bit too nosy sometimes. The best way to get rid of her was to make her think she was in charge. “I will next time,” she said. “Promise.”
“Okay.” But instead of leaving, Rose came further into the room. “What are you doing, anyway?” she said. “Watching videos or something?”
“No.” Resisting a childish urge to slam her laptop shut, she said, “Just reading some articles.”
“Anything good?”
Before she could come up with another bland lie, Piper was saved by the bell—the one over the door out front, jangling to announce a customer coming in. “Dang,” Rose said. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”
So was I. Piper shrugged a little, and said, “Thanks for getting this one.”
“Yeah, you owe me,” Rose said. “It’s probably a drunk.”
The other waitress left, and Piper went back to reading. She hadn’t gotten three paragraphs into the first article when Rose burst in again, wide-eyed and breathless. Piper was actually alarmed, until Rose said, “Your favorite customer is here, and I’m definitely not waiting on him.”
Her panic eased into exasperation. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything to him.”
“Of course not. Do I look crazy?”
She sighed, already shutting her laptop down. “It’s bad enough you act so weird when he comes in.”
“I’m weird? You’re the only person in the universe who likes him.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I think you hurt his feelings when you do that.”
Rose shuddered. “That man has no feelings.”
“Yeah, well…I’ll take care of him.”
She grabbed her apron and tied it on as she headed for the dining room. He was easy to spot—not just the sole customer, but the biggest man in Covendale, sitting alone at his usual corner booth. He’d been coming here most nights for a few years now, and he never bothered anyone at the diner. But pretty much everyone still acted like Rose around him.
Piper knew all the rumors about Jonah Dawson. He worked for Eddie Verona, he threatened people, he got violent. Some said he was a murderer too, but she never believed that one. For a while she’d wondered if Verona had chased her aunt out of town and the broken leg had been Jonah’s work. But he would’ve been a kid then, same as her. And besides, she’d never been able to connect Celeste with the loan shark. Not yet, anyway.
Jonah also happened to be the only person in town she could talk to, more or less. He didn’t ask a lot of questions—in fact, he barely talked at all—and he never hit on her. She’d come to look forward to their not-exactly-conversations.
As she approached him with a menu he didn’t need, she realized there wouldn’t be much non-conversation tonight. Jonah had been in another fight. His cheek was bruised, and a shallow cut beside his eye dribbled blood.
“Hey,” she said casually, stopping beside the table to drop the menu. “You got something on your face, there.”
“Probably,” he rumbled without looking at her.
“The usual?”
He nodded.
“All right. I just made the coffee, so it’s nice and fresh.” She picked the menu back up. “I don’t know why I bring you this,” she said. “Do you even know what a vegetable is?”
His lack of reaction worried her. That comment usually drew a smirk, at least.
“Be right back with your pie,” she said, and headed for the kitchen. She’d bring him a slice of deep-dish cherry, a cup of coffee, and a few things he didn’t ask for—like an ice pack, a wet cloth, and a bandage. Somehow she’d fallen into the habit of taking care of Jonah, but she didn’t mind.
She had a feeling if she didn’t, no one else would.
* * * *
Jonah waited until Piper disappeared into the kitchen, and then fell back against the seat with a groan.
He probably shouldn’t have come into the diner tonight. Someone had tipped off a green client that him and Eddie were coming to collect a late payment, so the man had been waiting with friends. And baseball bats. Jonah had subdued them, but not without taking some serious blows first. One of them still managed to swing on Eddie.
The loan shark didn’t take kindly to being attacked, and Jonah had been obliged to break more than the scheduled one bone. The guy who’d hit Eddie might not survive until sunrise—but Jonah was always left out of that business, at his own insistence. Killing wasn’t in him.
His ribs were bruised to hell, and breathing was painful. But he’d wanted to see Piper. He couldn’t talk to her about work, any more than he could talk to his family. Still, she was nice to him, and just the sight of her calmed him down. Especially when things got bad.
Somehow over the past few years, she’d become the closest to a friend he had.
The pretty waitress walked around beneath a perpetual cloud. She never talked about herself, and Jonah never pushed, so she extended the same courtesy to him. Getting a rare smile from her was a gift that kept him going for days. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen tonight—not after she’d seen his face. But at least she didn’t freak out and run into the back room like the other waitress.
He had that effect on women. And men, most of the time.
Piper returned with a plate of pie, two coffees, and a suspicious bulge in her apron. Damn it, he should’ve figured on this. He’d never been comfortable having other people tend to his injuries. It felt too much like letting them into the part of his life he’d sworn to contain, away from everyone he cared about.
The first time she’d done it, he almost scared her away for good. She hadn’t said anything. She just plopped right down next to him, dipped a napkin in water, and started wiping blood away from a gash on his arm. He never let people touch him and he didn’t want to then. But he’d sat there without a word, shaking with the effort to keep from shouting and pulling away. She’d noticed his discomfort—and it hadn’t stopped her from doing it again the next time.
Now when it happened, he just put up with it until she was done.
She set the plate and mugs on the table, then slid into the booth. “I was on my break when you came in,” she said. “I’ll just take the rest of it with you, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
“You know what I’m going to do, right?”
He shook his head. “If you have to.”
“Well, let’s have a look.”
He stared off into the distance while she took out a wet cloth and cleaned the cut by his eye. As she patted it dry with a napkin, she said, “Is this all of it? You seem a little tense.”
“It’s all you’re seeing.” No way was he taking his shirt off in the diner.
“Okay. Long as you’re not bleeding to death somewhere.”
“Not yet.”
With a small sigh, she fastened a bandage over the cut, and then took his hand and slapped an ice pack into it. “Hold that on your cheek a few minutes,” she said. “You’re swelling.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, and did as he was told. “Can I eat my pie now?”
His heart stopped when she smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” He managed a small smirk. “So…pie?”
“Dig in.”
He did. It was just as good as always. While he ate, she fixed her coffee—one creamer, half a p
acket of sugar, the other half folded twice at the top and tucked into her apron pocket for a later cup. Funny how he knew more about her habits than just about anyone else’s, even his own family.
They sat in silence until he started on his coffee, black. Then he found himself saying, “Why are you so nice to me?”
He hadn’t meant to say that, and he kind of hoped she wasn’t inclined to answer. But she looked thoughtful for a moment, and said, “I don’t know. I guess because we’ve got a lot in common.”
“Right.”
“No, we really do.” She toyed with her coffee cup, tapped the edge once. “We’re night people. We don’t appreciate being asked a lot of stupid questions.” She sent him a serious gaze. “And we do what we have to.”
Jonah stared back. It was the closest she’d ever come to acknowledging what he did, what everyone knew he did. She couldn’t be okay with it—he was a monster, after all—but at least she tolerated him. It was more than most people could manage.
“All right, your turn,” she said. “Why are you so nice to me? And don’t say we have a lot in common. That’s cheating.”
Something close to panic welled in him. What was he supposed to say? Everything he could think of, all the kernels of truth, would make him sound like a deranged stalker. And complementing her coffee wasn’t good enough after the way she answered.
Finally he said, “Because you’ve seen me ugly, and you didn’t run.”
Her eyes widened in shock, and he thought maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Should’ve gone for the coffee. But then she smiled. “Acceptable,” she said. “Not exactly Shakespeare, but I’ll take it.”
“Who’s Shakespeare?”
That brilliant smile grew. “Jonah Dawson, did you just make a joke?”
“Depends,” he said. “Was it funny?”
“I’d give it an eight out of ten.” Shaking her head, she drained the rest of her coffee. “Well, I think we’ve gone deep enough for one night,” she said. “I’d better pretend to work. Want a refill before I bust out the mop?”
Dawson's Honor (Welcome to Covendale Book 6) Page 2