“You just kissed? You were ‘just kissing’ all around the bar last night.”
“Yes.” She blushes again. Her freckled cheeks grow redder and redder. “We came back here and ‘just kissed’ and stuff, too.”
“And stuff?” Caught!
“Yeah, like a few bases, but that’s about it.”
“A few? As in three?”
“Maybe.” She turns away from me.
“Meggie, that’s Troy Turner, star athlete and notorious man-whore. You need to be careful.”
“I know.” She gets up now, pacing the living room around the couches. “It’s just… we have a connection I can’t explain.”
“Well, be careful.”
“Yes, Mom,” she teases.
“So, some bouncer saved you from almost getting raped last night and then takes you to the hospital?” She slickly changes the subject.
It’s my turn to blush. “I woke up in his bed.”
“What?” Her mouth drops open.
“Yeah, he took me to his apartment.” I hide a smile.
“That’s actually kind of romantic. Did he take your number?”
“He has it for the case. But, Meggie…”
“Yeah?” She glances up.
“It was the hot bouncer.”
“No way. Bouncer-dreamy-eyes?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God, that makes this story twice as awesome! Did he say anything to you?”
“He has this huge box of condoms beside his bed.”
We break into hysterical giggles. I grab my stomach. She doubles over the chair until they die down.
“Well, at least we know he’s safe.”
“That’s what he said!” A new roar of laughter overcomes us.
A knock comes at the door. Meggie perks up and goes to answer it. I notice as she does that, she rolls up the waistband of her boxer shorts slightly.
She opens the door to Tom, our thin, dorky neighbor. “Hey, is everything okay in here? I heard a commotion.”
“Yeah, Tom, everything is fine. Becca was just filling me in on her extracurricular activities last night.” Meggie winks back at me. She opens the door further, allowing him in. We have a pretty laid back wing, up here on the third floor.
“Oh.” He pushes his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “What kind of activities?”
“Hmm, good question.” She turns to me. “Becca?”
“There were no activities. I was just… sick.”
“Oh, yes. Sick.” She copies me.
“Are you feeling okay?” Tom comes to sit beside me on the couch. Meggie raises her eyebrows at me a few times, not so conspicuously pointing between us two.
“Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you.”
“Well, if you need some chicken soup or anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Meggie butts in. “Yes, some chicken soup for the soul is exactly what Becca needs.”
“Meggie.” I shoot her a look.
She folds, raising her hands in defeat. “I’m just saying.” With that, she wanders into her bedroom to our left and doesn’t come back out.
“Your roommate is a strange one.” Tom turns back to me.
“I’ll say.”
We share a laugh. When it dies down, he asks, “What are your plans for today?”
“Well, I have some homework to do. I might head to the library.”
“Oh, cool. Maybe I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be headed there. I still have to get ready and stuff.”
“Just knock on my door when you leave.”
“Okay,” I tell him, knowing that it’s not going to happen.
Books are piled up in front of me so high, I can barely see over them. I have to blink a few times before my eyes focus back on the pages before me.
“Ugh.” I run my hands down my face.
“Hey, stranger.” Tom’s smooth voice echoes down to me from my great wall of books. When I glance up, I can just make out the rim of his dark glasses.
“Oh, hey, I was just—”
“Deep into studies, I see.”
“Yeah.” My shoulders slump.
“Do you mind if I join you?” His finger points to an empty chair across from me.
“Uh, sure.” I awkwardly jostle and slide books to a pyramid on the other side of the circular table.
“Thanks.” He settles in across from me. “That’s a lot of books. Are you studying all of them?”
“I like to be prepared.” My eyes remain on the sheet in front of me.
“I get it.” He plucks a packet from his book bag and starts taking some notes.
We continue like this for what feels like hours, studying, sighing, and taking notes in silence. Only twice, I catch his eyes on me. But, for the most part, it’s nice. For once, it’s nice not being alone.
My hand hovers over the pause button. The screen before me is swimming, the long nights finally catching up with me. I rub my eyes once more and glare at the small television screen I’m watching. The figures blur before me and fade into shadows. One would think the most popular bar on The Ave would be able to afford night vision cameras. Instead, I’m forced to study the faces through scattered, revolving lights.
The tall and lanky Mr. Connor peeks his head into the room. “How’s everything going in here, John?”
I didn’t even have to flash a badge for him to offer up his security footage. “No luck yet.” My fingertips rub at my temples again.
“You should really get some sleep. Feel free to take these home and watch them later.” He takes a step into his small office through the kitchen.
I groan. “Yeah, maybe I will. Thanks, Boss.”
“No problem. See you Friday night.” With a wave, he leaves me and I turn back to the screen.
There she is. I pause when I see her blonde hair swish across her back, making her way to the bar. Automatically, I lean in closer, as if that would somehow make the picture clearer. Her ginger-haired friend is beside her for a little bit. They dance and giggle with a pair of drinks in hand. A man approaches them. I freeze, until he strikes up a conversation with the redhead. After that, it’s pretty much Becca on her own. She dances by herself for a while, barely ever leaving her friend’s side. She orders another drink. I watch closely; the bartender was Rick. He’s a player, but he doesn’t have to resort to dropping things in girls’ drinks. The lights shift again and I suddenly lose her. That friend of hers is still by the bar, engaged in a very public display of what I can only describe as a form of foreplay.
My finger switches to the fast forward button, face inches away from the screen, eyes searching for Becca in the sea of people.
“Where is she?” I mutter to myself. “Come on.”
Suddenly, she creeps onto the screen. On each side of her stands a male companion. One is skinny and short, the other tall and lean. She’s laughing, and doesn’t look to be in danger. Did I make a mistake? Could she have just been drunk?
I watch wide-eyed when they take her to the bar. The taller one orders the drinks, the other roping her into conversation. She laughs again, blonde hair tumbling down her back. Beside Becca, the one grabbing the drinks – there it is! He reaches into his pocket and the picture is a little shitty, but his hand hovers over the edge of her drink. I swear I see him drop something in it. I knew it!
I have to take this video into evidence. Maybe they can enlarge the scene and figure out exactly what he added. I don’t really have much faith with the picture quality shaky.
I hit eject and pull the CD out of the security computer. After throwing it into a case, I slip out of the office, through the bustling kitchen, and into the busy restaurant. I’m passing the bar when I notice Rick behind it.
I make a beeline for him. He glances up immediately, a look of alarm crossing his face. “Rick.”
“Hey, Smith. I almost didn’t recognize you in uniform. What brings you in?”
“Work.” I sigh, leaning against the ma
rble bar. “You were working Friday night, right?”
“I work like every night,” he mutters, popping open a beer and placing it on a tray.
“There was a girl here; blonde hair, blue eyes, and a redheaded friend.”
“Oh, I know the redhead, alright.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, she’s here all the time. Megan, I think her name is, or Meg something. They go to school at North Commons.”
“Yeah, those are the girls I’m asking about.”
“What about them?”
“The blonde was slipped something.”
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy crap.” He pauses, hands now braced against the bar’s edge.
“Any idea who would have done it?”
“You don’t think it was me, do you? I can get girls in bed without drugs. Believe me.”
I hold my hand out. “Relax. I just meant did you see anything suspicious. Remember anyone hanging out with her?”
“Um,”—He rubs his temples—“Friday… I think I remember two guys with her. The blue-eyed one bought her a drink. I didn’t see them put anything in it.” No, but I did. “I didn’t see where they went, either. Fridays are like a shit show.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Weren’t you working that night? Did you see anything?”
“I was the one that caught up with them before they could stuff her in a car.”
“Assholes.” Rick leans against the marble bar. “What kind of lowlife drugs a girl to get her home?”
“You got me.” I shrug.
“Yeah, you don’t have a problem with the ladies, either.” He smirks at me, turning to pull some papers from beside the register and shuffles through them.
“You don’t happen to remember how the kids paid, do you?”
“Exactly what I’m looking for.” Rick shuffles through a few, glancing at a zillion names.
“If you can lock down a time I’ll look through the credit card receipts.”
“You got it. I’ll keep you posted,” I call over my shoulder, heading out of the bar.
“See you Friday,” he responds.
I collapse into the cruiser and pause a moment, reaching for my cell phone. The lock screen indicates no new messages—Not like I expected any. I don’t give out my number – for a reason.
Should I call her? Is this information enough to bother her? I mean; I don’t have any answers yet. Maybe I ought to pull her in for more questioning.
“No.” I answer my own thoughts. I just want to pull her in to see her again. No, I can’t get involved. I won’t.
The cruiser zips out of the parking lot. Well, as fast as old Patty can go, anyway.
A thump causes me to lift my head. Books crash to the floor as I sit up. I fell asleep on the couch again. I must have stayed up all night studying. Again.
I rub my eyes, contacts burning slightly. “Meggie?”
A figure pauses as they walk around the center island toward the front door. Their back straightens—A tall, broad back. I blink a few more times and the figure turns around.
“Uh… no.”
“Tom?” Our next-dorm-neighbor (as Meggie calls him) is standing there in Batman boxers, clothes crumpled between his hands. He’s skinny, as I would have expected, but without his thick-rimmed glasses, he has a redeeming dork-quality to him.
“Um… I …” He glances around as he searches for words.
I have to hide a smile at his flustered appearance. He’s apparently not used to this. Trying to save him from an aneurism, I climb to my feet. A pen rolls to meet my books on the living room floor.
“Meggie and I, we…” His feet shift from side to side.
“Would you like some breakfast?” I’m used to the usual morning-after routine. Some just want to scamper out, but others will stay and make conversation. I wander around him to the cabinet, pulling out a box of Sugar Loops.
“What?”
“Breakfast?” I lift the red box up.
“Um, yeah sure.”
I twist, opening another cabinet, and pull out two bowls, grabbing spoons from a drawer. He sits on the barstool on the other side of the island, separating the living room from the kitchen.
“Sugar Loops?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
I pour milk into his cereal before my own and stand, eating across from him. “So.” I swirl my spoon around in my bowl. “You and Meggie, huh?”
“It just kind of happened.” He rubs his temples.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I spoon some cereal into my mouth.
The conversation dies off until only the clanking of our spoons against the bowls remains. He pauses when he’s finished, looking me up and down with his slate grey eyes.
“Are you mad at me?”
My eyes go wide. I place the bowl on the table. “Me? No, why?”
“Just asking.” His eyes look down at the clothes in his lap. Reality must hit him because he shakes out his jeans and slips his legs through, then throws his shirt over his skinny frame.
“So,” I blurt out to distract myself from him. “What time is your first class?”
“Not until ten.”
“Oh, me, too. Statistics, blah.” I make a face, sticking my tongue out.
“You studying for finals already?” He points behind him to the mess of books and scattered loose-leaf papers.
“You can never be too ready.”
“No, I guess not. Hey, I took Stats last semester. If you ever need help, just let me know.”
“Aw, thanks, Tom.”
We sit/stand there looking at each other a few seconds, before I nod and glance away.
“Well, I should be getting ready for school.”
“Oh, right.” He struggles to his feet. “Well, I’ll see ya.” Walking to the door, he lets himself out.
“All right, bye,” I call, closing the door behind him. He glances back like he wants to say more, but I click the door closed, sliding the lock into place, before spinning on my heels to take a shower.
“Mm.” I hear a groan. Turning in my doorway, Meggie emerges from her room. That ginger hair of hers is a huge mess on top of her head. “Did he leave?”
“Yes…” I stare at her, but she avoids my eyes. “Tom? Really, Meggie?”
“Ugh.” She folds, sitting on the stool where Tom just vacated. “Don’t remind me. We were just playing pool in the game room, he bent over to shoot, and I just caught a glance of that cute bum of his.” Her hands cup themselves in the shape of a bum to accentuate her point.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I will never look at him the same. She blinks, staring at the closed door.
“Why?” I lean against the doorpost.
“He’s like Clark Kent. Without those dorky glasses, he’s like Superman in the bedroom.” She giggles.
“Oh my God. Too much information.” I cover my ears. That’s when my alarm begins to blare to life from my bedroom. “Well, that’s my cue to get ready for class.”
“Whatever, nerd,” she calls, wandering back into her room and shutting the door.
By the time I’m ready and walk out into the living room again, Meggie is still nowhere to be found. I roll my eyes before picking up my bag and rushing out the door.
“Becca?” I hear my name before I even have my key out of the door. Tom’s grey eyes meet mine as I turn around. The black-rimmed glasses are back on. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at what Meggie said.
“Let me walk you to class.”
“Sure,” I mutter, slinging my black messenger bag over my shoulder.
“That looks heavy. Do you want me to carry it?”
“Um, no, that’s okay. Thanks, though.”
“No problem.”
We walk down the hall in awkward silence. I get the feeling he wants to say something again, but never has the nerve to. Walking down the stairs, he attempts to stroll beside me until people pa
ss from the opposite direction. It’s so strange between us. You would think it were me that slept with the guy. When we cross the football field, I break the silence.
“What class are you going to?”
“Chemistry 304.”
“Oh, I hate chemistry – I took two biology classes to avoid it.”
“It’s not so bad.” He shrugs.
The morning sun is beaming down on us as we continue. I’m just happy all the snow has melted. It seems like each passing winter is getting worse and worse. Walking to school during a blizzard is not fun. The teachers go harder on dormers – no excuses, they say. The dew from the field is seeping into my sneakers – meant more for a fashion statement than active wear. It’s a wonder they can be considered sneakers.
“What’s your major, Tom?” I don’t think I’ve ever asked.
“Physics? How about you?”
“Criminal Justice. I plan to apply to law schools next spring.”
“Law school?” His voice squeaks.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” I get that reaction a lot, though I don’t understand why.
“I just never would have guessed.”
“Why?”
He looks uncomfortable. “It’s just you’re… so… nice.”
“And lawyers are all assholes? Well, maybe law school changed them. Maybe there’s a class called ‘Put a Stick Up There.’” I smirk.
We approach the Old Building. I pause on the back entrance steps. “Well, this is me – see ya later.”
“Becca,” he calls as I open the door. I spin, locking eyes with him through his thick-rimmed glasses, “I hope you don’t change.”
With that, he zips around the side of the building heading down, leaving me to stare after him.
I wander into class right on time, but even that is too late for a good seat. Seats in college are like real estate. The ones with a view by the window are taken first. The back row is prime real estate, as well; they go second. Then the row along the far wall, until slowly the middle fills in, the last arrivers stuck in the front row. Ugh.
I hate front row, I think to myself, collapsing into my chair. I feel like everyone is staring at my back, which, technically, they are. Plus, you’re in a prime position to be called on by the professor—Not like I have anything to worry about. It’s just I hate sitting in front.
Uncovering Officer Smith (The Discovering Trilogy #2) Page 4