by Beth Yarnall
After five and a half years of living together we aren’t any closer than the day I found him hiding in the shrubbery outside of Cassandra’s building. I still don’t know why he let me pick him up and put him in my car. I don’t like cats and he doesn’t seem to like me. We have an unspoken pact—other than when I have to cram him in his carrier for vet visits, I don’t touch him and he doesn’t try to sit on my lap or rub up against me in any way. I have no idea why he doesn’t run away. Maybe he realizes his situation. I don’t know.
“There you are.” Leo joins me on the little balcony, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He stands shoulder to shoulder with me and we watch the cat eat something off a paper wrapper. “Savannah and me…” he begins.
“I really don’t care.”
“No. I know. It’s just that…” He kicks the metal balcony railing, making it vibrate. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“Me too.”
“I’m not really like that.”
“It doesn’t matter to me what you are or aren’t like.”
I try to go around him, back through the door, but he puts a hand on my arm to stop me, then pulls it at my glare.
“What I’m trying to say is…” He lets out a frustrated sound. “Things’ll be cool now between you and Savannah.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “All that happened last summer with me and Savannah. It’s ancient history, you know?”
“Apparently not.”
“It definitely is now. Okay?”
“Sure. Whatever.” What does he expect me to say? What does he want from me? “Can we go back inside?”
He opens the door and holds it for me to pass through first. I look for the orange cat one last time, but he’s gone. I think of Oliver and our understanding. Maybe Leo and I can work out the same kind of unspoken deal for the summer, where we coexist in the same space without getting attached, where we get what we need from each other and then go our separate ways. But as I brush past him, I realize that his confession and apology have made it a little harder to breathe around him. He takes up so much space—both physically and figuratively—that it’s hard to be comfortable around him.
I’m learning that despite appearances there is something more to him than a pretty face and an I-couldn’t-give-a-fuck attitude. He does, actually, give a fuck. More than he’d want known. And if he knew how badly he failed at hiding it sometimes, he’d only respond by doubling his efforts to cover it up. I wonder how many people know that about him, how many look past the clothes, body language, and arrogant facial expressions to see what lies beneath it all. And if they did, would they see what I was beginning to see?
Chapter 6
Leo
I follow Cora back to the conference room past Savannah’s now empty desk. She took off for lunch after I got her calmed down. After I practically begged her to leave Cora alone and took everything she threw at me. I had it coming. I never should’ve touched her, no matter how many times she “accidentally” brushed her tits over my arm or leaned over so I could see down her top. I knew better. But at the time I was just so knocked out that she even wanted me, especially after my girlfriend of six months had dumped me right before summer started.
Thank God Dad wasn’t here to hear Savannah and me go at it. As far as I know he doesn’t have a clue about what happened between us. But Cora does and now it’s stressing me out that she thinks I’m an even bigger douche bag than she originally thought. She wouldn’t look at me out there on the balcony, while I stammered out my lame-assed explanation and apology. I don’t know why I felt like I needed to apologize to Cora. Maybe because Savannah sucked her into our drama just to get back at me and screw me over with Cora before I could even manage to get anything started.
Cora sits in the chair she was in before and starts going through her bag. She’s still not looking at me.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “There’s a pretty good sandwich place down the street.”
“Nope.” She pulls a sandwich from a brown paper bag, takes a bite, and chews.
“I’ll run down there by myself, then. Want anything?”
“Can you make it quick? I want to finish going over this with you so we can finally get started.”
“Sure.”
She pulls out her phone and jabs in a text as she munches on another bite of sandwich. I’m ignored. I run down to the shop and get back in record time. I’m hardly breathing heavy, thanks to the deep breaths I took before returning to the conference room. She’s on the phone with someone. I slide into my chair and go through the motions of tucking in to my sandwich.
She tilts her head back and laughs. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, but inside I’m dying. Who is she talking to? What did they say to her to get her to smile like that? It creases her face and reaches her eyes. For a split second she looks at me with that smile and I pause mid-bite, my mouth hanging open above my sandwich. Then she turns away and mumbles something into the phone. Her low, sexy chuckle at whatever the asshole she’s talking to says in return makes the bite I just took taste like shit and I fight to swallow it.
I toss the sandwich aside and watch as she strolls the edge of the room, twisting a piece of blue hair around her finger as she talks. More throaty laughter. I imagine making her laugh like that as we roll around in bed. She’d be insane between the sheets. I just know it. The thought of her naked with me gives me a boner that could pound rocks. I want her. I want her in a way that I’ve never wanted anything or anyone ever. Before her I thought I knew what it was to get a hard-on for a chick where you just can’t get her out of your head, where all other girls go away for you and it’s just her. That was nothing compared to the way my hands shake and I have to fist them to keep her from seeing. I know where she is in the room at all times, like my body is a big, giant homing beacon set to her frequency. I can feel her and yet I only ever touched her that one time out on the balcony.
She punches the end button on her phone and pockets it.
“Was that your boyfriend?” I ask, trying for casual, but I’m unable to keep the jealousy out of my voice that’s burning a fire through me.
“No.”
Just that one word. No explanation. Was that No, I wasn’t talking to my boyfriend or No, I don’t have a boyfriend to talk to? I can’t tell. Nothing in her answer or her movements gives me a fucking clue which it is as she takes her seat again.
“You listened to the 9-1-1 call,” she prompts me.
“Yeah. Right.” I pull my notebook toward me and try to come up with something to ask her. Something intelligent. But all that comes out is, “What happened next?”
She searches through her stack of folders until she finds the one she wants. “According to the police report, the first detective to respond was Paul Winfro. He assessed the scene and called it in. A supervisor arrived, then crime-scene techs, the coroner, and so on.”
“What time was that?”
“I told you, about six, just after Cassandra would’ve gotten off work. The neighbor and the yoga class?” Her impatience with me kicks up a dozen levels.
“Right.”
“If you’ve got somewhere else you’d rather be, don’t let me stop you from taking off. Your dad gave me the password to the Wi-Fi here and the login and passwords for the websites the agency uses for searches. There’s lots I can do without you if you’re bored.”
“I’m not bored.”
She makes a sound like she doesn’t believe me.
“I’m not,” I insist. “Tell me about what happened next.”
I listen and take notes like I’m in class and there’s going to be a test. I ask good questions. By the time she’s done walking me through it I almost feel as though I know Cassandra. My dad said to start with the victim, but there was no one and nothing in Cassandra’s life that should’ve led to her murder. She was an ordinary eighteen-year-old. Who would
want to kill her in the horrible way she died and why? I have to talk to Beau. I feel like I can get something from him that Cora couldn’t.
It’s nearly dark out by the time we’re finished. Dad’s talking to Savannah about tomorrow’s appointments and Cora and I have a solid plan to start working on in the morning. I help her pack her folders and binders into her box. When we’re all done, she puts the lid on and I carry it to the storage cabinet and lock it up. By the time I get back, she’s got her bag on her shoulder.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and starts to leave, then turns back.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her nervous. My curiosity kicks into high gear.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she blurts out, then bolts for the door. She’s gone before my brain can restart to stop her.
I lean against the door frame, a dumb-ass smile on my face, and that’s how Dad finds me.
He glances from me to the door, then back again. “No. Absolutely not. She’s a client.”
“Isn’t she more of an employee?”
“In my office.”
I follow him down the hall, feeling like that time I was sixteen and I accidentally backed his truck into a pole.
He closes the door after me. “Sit down. You and I need to get something straight.” He waits for me to take a seat. “I thought it was fairly obvious, but after what happened last summer between you and Savannah, I feel like I need to set some boundaries here.”
Shit. He knows about Savannah and me.
“I remember what it’s like to be your age.” This is going to be one of his long talks, when I’m expected to sit here and listen without comment, then totally change my behavior forever. “Pretty girls turned my head too, but you have to have some common sense. This is a place of business, not a pickup joint. I didn’t say anything about you and Savannah, figuring it would work itself out one way or the other. But it hasn’t. I regret not putting a stop to that. And now you’re looking at Cora that same way and I won’t have it. That girl’s been through enough.”
“I—”
“I’m not finished. I’m serious here, Leo. Leave her be. You have no idea what she’s been through. Her family—”
“You investigated her?”
“We investigate all of our clients. You should know that. We have to be sure they are who they say they are and that they’re hiring us for the reasons they give us. We don’t want to inadvertently help an abuser find their victim or help them break the law.”
I should know that, but I didn’t. “What did you find out about her?”
“All you need to know is that we’re working on a very real case. Cora is who she says she is and the circumstances are exactly as she described them.”
I expected that. “Yeah, but what did you mean that she’s been through enough? Don’t you think I should know what you know if I’m going to work with her?”
He considers this, staring at me for a beat, then two, before he speaks. “During the trial her parents separated, then divorced shortly after that. At sixteen, Cora fought to become an emancipated minor and won. She got a job, moved out on her own, and has been living as an adult ever since. She tested out of high school two years before graduation. She’s been completely on her own for more than five years. She’s not…How can I put this? She’s not the kind of person who screws around. She’s serious. Her brother’s case has been her life. Every job, every community college course she’s taken, has been in relation to what she can do to help her brother.
“I’m telling you this so that you can understand where she’s coming from and take it into consideration. I need you one hundred percent on the job and not trying to get into her pants. She needs you one hundred percent. This isn’t a hobby to her, a way to kill a summer. This is her life. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“Yeah, that you think all I want to do is sleep with her. Thanks, Dad.”
“I see the way you look at her. And I know she’s the only reason you volunteered to help with her brother’s case.”
“Yesterday, yeah. But today? Today I want to be the one who helps her find a way to free her brother.”
“That’s not all you want.”
“No, it’s not, but it’s what I mostly want.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you mostly want to help her free her brother if it’s not to eventually sleep with her?”
The way Cora looked when she practically stormed into Dad’s office and demanded our help, the way she stroked Cassandra’s photo, the way she talked about her brother, and her box full of papers that’s been her life fill my head until I can’t think of anything else. She deserves—more than anyone else I’ve ever met—to get what she wants. She’s worked damn hard for it. I respect the hell out of her. I genuinely like her. All of these things roll around in my brain, but looking at my dad, I can’t seem to form any of the words to tell him exactly what I’m thinking.
All that comes out is a pathetic “She needs me to.”
Surprise flashes across his face first, followed by the barest trace of a smile that he somehow manages to make look stern. “Okay, then.”
“Okay.” I stand to leave, but Dad’s not done.
“Fix things with Savannah.”
“I already did.” Mostly. As best as I could for the moment.
“Then I guess I’ll see you at home later.”
“See ya.”
I head out to my car and climb in. The summer sun turned the interior into an oven, but I’m not really feeling it. I’m still back in the conference room doorway at the moment that Cora told me she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Her words loop over and around like a roller coaster, making my stomach whoosh, and I can’t help the stupid grin that splits my face. Because maybe, just maybe, Cora might like me too, or at the very least she’s beginning to. I rub the back of my hand across my mouth, but I can’t wipe away the smile or the hope.
Chapter 7
Cora
No.
That’s it. That’s Beau’s one-word response to me asking him if he’ll meet with Leo. I check the envelope again, hoping there’s more, but there isn’t. Why is he being so damn stubborn? I laid everything out for him on my last visit—how Mr. Nash helped to free Maurice Battle, how we’re looking for the missing downstairs neighbor, and how Mr. Nash was able to make an appointment to see Damien LeFeaux, the man who claimed to have seen Beau leaving Cassandra’s apartment at the time of her murder. That in itself was a seemingly insurmountable feat, but Mr. Nash pulled it off. I came real close to hugging him for it. Beau was supposed to think it over and get back to me. He got back to me, all right.
There’s no guarantee that LeFeaux will talk. He doesn’t have any incentive to cooperate with us. As Mr. Nash explained it, LeFeaux has a strong motive not to talk and avoid perjury charges. His visit could be a total waste of time. Or it could be the break we need.
It’s been nearly three weeks since I started working with Leo and his dad. Most of what we’ve done is going over old ground and trying to line up witness interviews. So far, the only person willing to talk to us is one of Cassandra’s old coworkers who now manages the store where she worked. That’s on today’s agenda and I can hardly contain my excitement. So much so that I arrive at the agency before it opens.
I park myself on the stairs and thumb through my emails. Nothing new and exciting. Pulling out my notebook, I start a letter to Beau. I’m going to be relentless in my campaign to get him to talk to Leo. I hate to say it, but Leo was right. Beau will never talk to me about Cassandra, and he might not talk to Leo either, but we have to try. Who knows what goes through Beau’s stubborn head. If it was me I’d do everything possible to get myself free. But not Beau. He’d rather sit in prison and rot like some kind of martyr.
Savannah comes up the steps. I was so engrossed in my letter that I didn’t hear her pull up. We’ve developed an uneasy kind of peace between us. She’s still pissed as
hell at Leo, but she doesn’t take it out on me. Much.
I stand and wait for her to unlock the door. She doesn’t hold the door open for me. Okay. So today I’m invisible. That I can live with. It’s better than biting back smart-assed comebacks to her snide remarks. She flips on all the lights and goes to the little kitchenette to start coffee. Mr. Nash really likes his coffee.
I head for the small office space Mr. Nash gave Leo and me. It’s papered with Beau’s case. Nearly every space on the walls is covered with photos and copies of reports in a timeline from the night before Cassandra was killed to Beau’s conviction. We even have a small whiteboard where we write down tasks to accomplish every day.
Today I’m investigating private in-home nursing-home options. Cassandra’s bed-bound downstairs neighbor, Edith Wheeler, is still missing in action. How could an eighty-four-year-old invalid simply disappear? The last time she filed taxes was about seven years ago and her Social Security checks go to a P.O. Box in Montana. We haven’t been able to find any relatives for her in that area who might be cashing her checks, and the post office won’t give us the name on the box. Mr. Nash suspects Social Security fraud and he even went so far as to file a report on it. As far as we can tell, no one at the Social Security Administration or post office has opened an investigation on it. Another dead end for now.
Mr. Nash doesn’t have an extra computer for me, so I drag my laptop out of my bag and fire it up. He gave me some pointers on how to search for people, and once you get into the databases it’s pretty easy to find just about anyone. Anyone except Edith Wheeler. Leo joked that she was probably a CIA operative with a secret identity or something, total black ops. Short of taking a trip to Montana to stake out the P.O. Box, we’re pretty short on leads for old Edith.
I’m sifting through old Craigslist ads from around the time when Edith disappeared when a hand holding a cup of take-out tea slides into my line of sight. Ever since Leo found out I drink tea instead of coffee he brings me a cup every morning from the same place he goes to get his coffee fix. I told him a thousand times that I don’t want him to get me tea. What I didn’t tell him is that I can’t afford to pay him back for it. He just shrugged and told me not to worry about it. He was going there anyway. I finally gave up telling him to stop.