I pressed my body against his, running a palm up his chest to his jaw. Right then, right in the middle of the kiss and my hair coming loose from the binding, an uncomfortable sensation struck. In the beginning I couldn't place it, didn't know if it was the surroundings (I wasn't used to this much luxury on a personal basis) or the long awaited anticipation or...what. Ramsey seemed to sense the cooling and lifted his head, a curious gleam in his eyes. I still had a hand on his chest, palm picking up the faint heartbeat beneath.
“What is it? Did you hear something?” he asked in a quiet voice.
This should have been perfect. We were alone, in a house most people would die of envy over, and we had several hours to make good on the heat that had been building between us. Yet...there I stood, feeling awkwardly confused, and unable to pinpoint why.
“No...no, I don't think so.”
“Then what's wrong? Do you want to sit down?” His arm tightened around me as if he thought I might feel faint or sick.
“I'm all right. I just...well. Maybe. Yes.” I changed my mind and let him escort me to one of the chairs near a bank of windows. Sinking into the cushion, aware of how underdressed I was compared to the opulence around me, I braced my elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed my forehead with my fingers.
Ramsey crouched in front of the chair, smooth and easy with his thighs flexing against the fine material of his slacks. “Tell me what I can do.”
Looking at him made it worse. I felt the same general stirring at his handsome face and well built body. Except now that we were at the precipice of consummation, something was wrong. I opened my mouth three different times to explain, and every time I tried, words failed me. The reason I suddenly had cold feet eluded me no matter how hard I tried to find it.
“I don't know, honestly.” I wasn't the kind of person to beat around the bush, and Ramsey deserved to know the truth. He'd been considerate and polite and compassionate during the time I'd known him. Lies and excuses were an insult to the tentative friendship we'd started to build.
“It's all right. Don't worry about it. If you're uncomfortable, I can take you home.” He remained in a crouch, tugging a pant leg up with a snitch of his fingers.
I searched Ramsey's eyes. Did I want to go home? It was a shock to realize that's exactly where I wanted to be. “I'm not uncomfortable here or with you, but yes, I think I would like to go home. I'm really sorry.” And I was. “I can walk from here, though. It's not all that far.”
Ramsey reached a hand out to lay it on my knee, a chaste gesture. “It's not a problem, Finley. Let me at least get you closer to home and then I'll drop you off, how's that?”
“All right. I appreciate it, Ramsey.” I gave him a wry, apologetic smile.
He stood up and removed his coat, tossing it over a nearby chair. The pristine white button down hugged his shoulders and back, defining the muscles and the breadth. The tie slid from around his neck and joined the jacket. Then he glanced back at me and escorted me from his bedroom.
Confused and troubled, I followed. On the road leading out of the exclusive neighborhood, I watched the mansions slip by and tried to figure out what else to say. I felt like I owed Ramsey more than I'd given.
“You all right?” he asked at a red light.
“Yeah. I just feel bad. This has been on my mind for weeks and it's not like me to freeze up.”
“It happens. Maybe taking you straight to my bedroom was the wrong move. Maybe it was me, not you.”
I glanced across the car, the wind whipping my hair around my head. I had to admit—having a coupe was nice. The late summer heat, even in the middle of the night, felt good on my skin. “It was a lot better than a hotel room or something impersonal.”
“But a bit too personal, hm?” he asked, meeting my eyes before looking back at the road.
I thought about it. “I don't think that's it. I would have loved to see more of your home, actually.”
“When you're ready.”
Ramsey was so self assured, so calm in the aftermath of what almost happened...and its awkward ending. If he was suffering any kind of regret, I couldn't tell. Three blocks later, I gestured to the next right turn. “Right around this corner is fine to drop me off.”
“All right.” He didn't argue.
Turning the corner, he pulled to the curb and let the engine idle. He met my eyes and smiled. “I'll see you soon.”
“Thanks again, Ramsey. And yes, I suspect you will. Good night.” I unbuckled and climbed out without the insult of kissing him. He'd been through enough. Besides, kissing him might have suggested a kind of lingering intimacy I wasn't ready to commit to. Closing the car door, I gave him a last smile, then turned away to the sidewalk. Our landlord lived on this street another block down. I figured Ramsey would drive away well before I reached the apartment off the garage in the back.
I'd only gone two steps, however, when a flicker-flash of light ahead drew my gaze. It was especially noticeable in the darkness. The only reason I hadn't noticed when we rounded the corner was because I'd been staring at Ramsey.
Two police cars sat alongside the back end of our landlady's property, closer to the garage than her house. The blip of light winking off the fencing behind the alley told me there was another cop car sitting there, too.
Three police vehicles flanking our garage. Had someone broken in? Immediately I became concerned we'd been the victim of a robbery or that perhaps the men Jasper went to meet came back for round two and he'd called the cops. I broke into a run, hearing Ramsey call my name somewhere behind me.
Right then, I didn't care if he saw where I lived, so far below his status as to be laughable. I cared about whether Jasper had been in another fight and what might have been stolen.
Please, God, not the six thousand stash of cash in the closet.
In periphery, I saw the Rolls cruise down the street in my wake. Crossing to the other side, I hit the sidewalk at a faster stride than before. Coming up on the first police car, I saw several patrolmen standing on the sidewalk, flashlights and clipboards in hand.
“Excuse me!” I said, slowing down.
The officers went on alert for a moment, one reaching back to unsnap the clasp securing his gun.
“I live here, this is my house. My apartment, I mean. Is there a problem?” I asked, gesturing to the garage while I caught my breath.
“You live here, Ma'am?” one officer said, while another asked, “Do you know the other occupant?”
Bracing my hands on the backs of my hips, I looked from face to face, frowning. “What? Yes, of course. He's my roommate and best friend, Jasper Lowe.” Then a thought struck. “He's not in jail, is he?”
Just then, Ramsey appeared behind me, a solid presence at my back. He must have parked the Rolls closer to the house and come over for support.
“What's going on, Finley?” Ramsey asked in a low voice.
“I don't know yet.”
“May I see your identification, please?” the third officer asked.
Digging my driver's license out of my pocket, I handed it over. The officer shined his flashlight down on the card. I hated that no one had answered my question about Jasper being in jail. That didn't bode well. Just what trouble was he in, anyway?
“It's her address,” the officer said and handed my license back.
I didn't understand why the officers looked at me in such a serious way. Sliding the license away, I said, “Yes, what happened? Did someone break in?”
After a telling minute of silence, an officer said, “I'm sorry Miss Carson. We found a body in the alley half a block down, very badly beaten. The driver's license belonged to a Jasper Lowe at this address. We're sorry, but can you come down to the coroner's office and identify the deceased?”
Chapter Ten
I felt like the star in a theatre of cruelty. Any second, I expected to hear the mad cackle of court jesters and feel a blood red spotlight shine down from above, highlighting my horror. My entire field of vision
swam in and out of focus. Super slow motion syllables warbled through the night, as if the soundtrack of the world had suddenly been thrust underwater. Shapes crowded closer, blocking out the flicker-flash of blue and red lights from the top of the police cruisers.
“Ma'am? You all right?”
Just like that, all my senses snapped back to reality. I met the officer's eyes, realizing belatedly that I must be in shock. The pressure around my body turned out to be Ramsey's arm, squeezing me to his side.
Never in my life had I been so struck for words, so sluggish in the mind. It was agonizing to try and vocalize a coherent reply.
“I...I'm...yes.” I wasn't sure if I was answering his question or if I'd just agreed to identify a body.
Jasper's body.
Impossible.
I'd just glittered his hair that morning—yesterday morning—and he'd thrown me in the landlady's pool right after. Jasper couldn't be dead.
“Finley? Would you rather I go instead?” Ramsey asked.
“No. I'll go.” I locked eyes with Ramsey next. “I'll do it.”
“I'll drive you, all right?”
I nodded.
“We'll see you down there,” the officer said, face a mask of concern.
Ramsey turned me away from the officers, from the garage with the tiny apartment inside. Crossing the street, Ramsey guided me to his car and eased me down into the seat, all with minimal jostling. Leaning across me, he buckled the seat belt.
“It'll be okay,” he whispered, then retreated.
If Jasper was dead, nothing would ever be okay again. There wasn't a time in my life that I could remember when Jasper hadn't been a part of it. He was there for every memory, from the beginning to today. Yesterday. Midnight had come and gone.
Vegas whizzed by as Ramsey followed one of the patrol cars through the streets. I saw blurs of color and light and the nondescript features of people crossing at stop signs. Numbness was spreading through me at a rapid rate and, I thought, maybe it was for the best.
Outside the coroner's office, a nondescript structure that seemed solemn and brooding in the night, I hesitated to get out of the Rolls. Ramsey coaxed me with his warm, quiet voice, hands gentle while he extracted me from the seat. I should be functioning better than this, I chided myself. I wasn't prone to shock or tears or ineffectiveness. Yet I labored for every breath and fought off dizzy spells as we crossed from the arid night into the clinical, sterile environment of the building. Immediately I cringed at the smell.
Ramsey dealt with the officer and the clerk at the front desk. I let him. A moment later, Ramsey leaned close to whisper in my ear.
“Do you want me to go in with you? You're not too steady on your feet, and if it is him, I think you need support.”
Ramsey was right. “Yes, thanks.”
Through two swinging doors, down the left corridor. We followed another lab-coated employee, the polished linoleum floors refracting round overhead lighting fixtures, to a single door in the wall.
This was it. Jasper might or might not be beyond, laid out on a table with a white sheet over his body.
“Here we go,” Ramsey said, his voice just a murmur.
I felt tears prick the back of my eyelids. My knees grew weak. Catching a sob in the back of my throat, willing myself to find strength from somewhere, I stepped into the small, square room with Ramsey. Plain gray walls wore no decoration. No generic framed paintings, not even medical announcements about the upcoming flu season or diagrams of the musculature system. A steel gurney sat square in the center, as I'd imagined, with a body draped in a white sheet.
For a moment, I wasn't sure I could go through with it. I didn't know what I would do if the assistant pulled the sheet back and Jasper's beaten, mangled face with its dead eye stare was there to greet me.
Not Jasper, so full of life and laughter. My best friend, the person I leaned on, confided all my secrets to.
He was everything to me.
Ramsey squeezed me a little tighter when the assistant's gloved hands grasped the edge of the sheet.
“I'm sorry,” the assistant said quietly, before peeling the cover down.
Revulsion built in my throat at the badly swollen face, the slightly gaping mouth, the dried blood in the haphazard hair strands. Brown hair. I couldn't tell in those first few seconds if it was Jasper or not.
“I don't know, I don't know,” I whispered, looking the face over for more cues and clues. The lips were too large—from swelling—and didn't help. With both eyelids shut, I couldn't see the color of the eyes, and I did not want to ask the assistant to peel a lid open.
No. I just couldn't.
“Ma'am? Does he have any tattoos?” the officer asked.
“No. Jasper doesn't have tattoos. But he's got scars on his knees. We both do. From falling over barbed wire while we were running in a field. And he's got a scar through his right eyebrow.” Once the explanation started, I couldn't stop. The words chattered out, sounding unlike me. The corpse's brows were too badly mangled to note a scar or not.
“Here, let's see if we can check the knees.” The assistant recovered the face, then stepped toward the feet and pulled the sheet back, folding it just above the dead man's kneecaps. Scrapes and bruises littered the deceased's shins and feet.
I knew before I ever looked for the familiar, small white scars on Jasper's knees that it wasn't him. Jasper had long toes—I knew, because I plucked them all the time to annoy him—and this man's were notably shorter and more plump.
“That's not him.”
“Are you positive, Ma'am? This man had his identification,” the officer said.
“I've known Jasper all my life. Those aren't his feet. I'm positive.” I inclined my head to the officer, took one more look at the sheeted body on the gurney, then pressed into Ramsey with the intent on retreating from the room. Ramsey turned with me and led me out, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
Relief hit hard and fast, along with a severe case of the chills. I couldn't get away from that room quickly enough. It didn't dawn on me to try Jasper's cell phone until we were all outside and I was gulping fresh air. Tugging my cell from a pocket, I speed dialed Jasper's number. Ramsey remained right beside me with an arm around my shoulders. The officer waited, watching with curious interest.
“Lucky for you, a hairdresser in town was able to get almost all the glue and glitter out,” Jasper said in lieu of hello.
It was so good to hear him, so overwhelming to know he was alive and vibrant and still the same Jasper I'd always known, that I choked on his name. The sound was half whimper, half sob.
“...Fins? What's wrong?” The mock stern tone switched to stark concern in an instant.
I couldn't answer. One tear slipped free, and another.
“Finley Lynn Carson, what's wrong?”
Jasper only used my full name when a crisis was at hand. He knew I wasn't the type to cry or get emotional unless disaster had struck. Ramsey saved me and eased the phone from my fingers.
“Jasper, it's Ramsey. We're out front of the coroner's office. Can you meet us here as soon as possible?”
“...I'm on my way.”
*
“What happened?” Jasper asked, jogging to the front of the building from the parking lot.
After fifteen minutes of answering as many of the officer's questions as I could, I was ready for a break. I turned toward the sound of Jasper's voice, another wave of relief washing over me to see him alive and healthy. Without hesitation, I met him at the curb and threw my arms around his neck, pressing a fresh sob against his throat. His warmth, scent and familiarity were enough to tip me over the edge again. I felt tension ripple through Jasper's body while he wrapped me up, holding me so tight that it was hard to breathe.
I didn't care. All I cared about in that moment was that he was alive.
“Shhh, Fins. I'm here,” Jasper crooned. Then, to Ramsey, he said, “What happened?”
I twisted my head enough to see Ramsey,
who had an odd look on his face while he watched me and Jasper.
“I'll let the officer explain,” Ramsey said, deferring to the cop.
“We got a call about a body in the alley a half block from your house. When we arrived, we found the person deceased. He had your identification in his pocket.” The officer withdrew Jasper's driver's license and handed it over.
Jasper's body twitched at the news. It was easy to feel pressed this close against him.
He took the license and said, “Yeah, someone stole my wallet yesterday. I had it when I went to get my hair...cut...and an hour later, when I stopped to get gas it was gone. Must have been pick-pocketed in between.”
“Or maybe you dropped it?” the officer asked.
“No, I didn't drop it. I would have known. My wallet's never come out of my pocket on its own, and I was in crowds before the gas station, so that had to be when it happened. I never noticed a thing.” Jasper stroked a hand over my hair, one arm still banded around my body.
I thought to myself that the odds of a person stealing a wallet winding up dead that close to our apartment were probably a million to one. The cop surely thought so, too. What did it mean?
“Can you tell me exactly where you were, and what happened, starting from the time you noticed your wallet missing?” the officer asked.
In a steady voice, Jasper listed his activities for the day. Nothing stood out as unusual. He'd met co-workers at a restaurant after the salon and before stopping for gas, went to work for an early shift and stayed on site until his next, which had ended most recently right before Ramsey had called.
The officer wrote everything down, nodding here or there and dropping in another question or two until they were done.
“All right. We'll contact you if we have any more questions,” the officer said.
“Thanks,” Jasper replied.
The question and answer session had allowed me some time to recover. I wasn't as shaky or upset. I finally put a foot of distance between Jasper and myself and smeared fingertips under my eyes to wipe away the last remnants of my tears.
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