Crash had taken a liking to me the moment I had first walked in three years ago. She had said, "Do you know how to handle a gun?" and I had replied, "Hell, yes." We'd been friends ever since.
"You want it loaded?" Crash asked as she came through the back door carrying a gun.
"Yes."
She reached down behind the counter and pulled out a box of ammunition. She loaded the gun, inspected it, flipped it, and handed the butt to me. The Firestar felt heavy in my hands, but comfortably so.
Crash put her elbows down on the counter and looked at me. Her dyed, platinum blonde hair was longer since I had last seen her. Her brown eyes were beginning to crease at the edges, but the wrinkles were barely noticeable under her heavy eye makeup. Today, like usual, she was wearing a white wife beater that exposed her muscular arms and the tattoos on her biceps.
"You okay?" she asked me.
I let out a sigh of exasperation. "Everybody keeps asking me that."
"That's because you look like crap."
I frowned at her, but she just quirked up one side of her mouth in her patent smile. I tossed the Firestar up in the air, then caught it and tucked safely in my shoulder bag. Hopefully I wouldn't need it any time soon, because it takes me about five full minutes to find anything in my purse.
"What's been goin' on, Simon?" Crash asked, fiddling with the rings on her fingers.
"Nothing much," I lied.
"Uh-huh," she said, unconvinced. "That's not what I've been hearin'."
"What've you been hearing?" I asked, eyes narrowing.
"That you've been one busy girl," she replied.
A car drove by noisily on the street outside. I peeked outside the large window, and saw the sun was setting. Colours slid across the horizon, making it seem like the sky was painted. I had been out running errands ever since eleven, and time passed quicker than I thought.
"Hey, it's been nice catching up, but I need to get going," I said, turning towards the front door.
"Simon!" Crash barked as I walked away from her. "You're not gettin' away that easy. Come back here."
I scrunched my face up in a pained expression, but made my way back to the counter. Crash's eyes had narrowed, and she looked suspicious.
"Now," she said, "you tell me what's goin' on."
I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a finger. "And don't leave anythin' out. I'll be able to tell if you're lyin'."
I sighed, and gave her an extremely edited version of what had happened this past week. I thought it was wise to leave out the supernatural angle, and the dying on the motel parking lot part.
Crash surprised me by laughing. Her laughter tinkled into every corner of her store, ricocheting off the walls and the guns. "That's bull," she said in between bursts of laughter.
I arched my eyebrows. "What?"
Crash's amusement had eased into soft chuckles. "That story was complete bull."
"No, it wasn't," I said indignantly.
She laughed harder, then it started to turn into wheezing, and put a hand to her chest. "You're makin' my asthma kick up, girl."
"It's not my fault you find my problems funny," I retorted, rearranging the shopping bags in my hand.
Crash cleared her throat. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"It's that you can tell me nothin' but try an' make me think it's everything."
I took a breath and said, "I told you the basic facts. I don't want to explain the rest. You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," she said.
"No," I said quietly, "I mean, I can't explain the rest."
Crash pursed her lips, but nodded. "Does the gun have something to do with it?"
I shook my head. "Nope. That's for a good, old-fashioned run," I said.
She flashed her traditional smile at me. "Do you need a holster? Maybe an Uncle Mikey's?"
I smiled back at her, grateful for the subject change. "No, I was planning on going with a thigh holster I've got at home."
"Going old school, are we?" Crash grinned.
"It's the only way," I said, and turned to walk to the door.
Crash followed, and opened the door for me. I exited Crash and Burn with a rustle of shopping bags and looked behind me at Crash. She was standing with her hands on her hips, observing me with quiet interest.
She looked at me pointedly, and said, "You watch your back, hon."
I raised a hand in acquiescence, and she shut the door behind me. I saw her flip the "OPEN" sign to read "CLOSED", and walk into the back room.
I started down the street, shopping bags in hand, purse heavier with the gun. As I walked back to my apartment, dusk was settled in, masking the city with the night sky. The moon was peeking out from behind the clouds, much too bright to be hidden. The fall air was chilly on my skin, and I was thankful I was wearing Callum's leather jacket. Miraculously, it hadn't gotten dirty with my blood or the gravel of the parking lot. I felt like I was back in high school; the school biggest jock had given me his letterman jacket. It smelled faintly of Callum, and I couldn't help smiling every time I caught a whiff.
I looked up at the withering brick walls of my building. It was four stories high, and my apartment was located on the third. I liked being near the top because I was eyelevel with the rest of San Francisco's apartment buildings. The rent nearly killed me, but I thought it was worth it. What else would I do with my paycheck? Save it for retirement? Riiight. I don't like thinking too far ahead in the future, mostly due to the fact that it's inconvenient.
I used my back to push the front door open after I'd put the security code in. I had to set down all my shopping bags so I could unlock my door. I looked down at them, not remembering buying so much. A dress, shoes, new pantyhose, a relatively inexpensive necklace, and a shawl. I felt guilty about the shawl, but Callum had told me to go all out.
I set my bags down by the door and flipped the light switch on. It was full dark outside the French doors, even though my cuckoo clock said it was only five-forty. Gotta love daylight savings time.
My stomach growled, and I made my way to the kitchen, turning the lights on as I went. I kept the jacket on because I hadn't been able to pay the heat bill and the cold wind was seeping under the door and through the windows. I yanked open the refrigerator door and stood there, debating. I wasn't especially in the mood to cook dinner, but I didn't feel like eating a Pizza Pocket. I decided on making some spaghetti and throwing on some bolognaise sauce from a jar.
I went to the stove and set a pot of water to boil. I got the spaghetti out of the cabinet underneath the island counter, and the sauce from the fridge. As I waited for the water to boil, I sat at the kitchen table and pulled Mr. Knightley's manila folder towards me. I flipped through the four sheets absently. It was obvious that this run was the first Knightley had done with Montgomery Private Investigations.
Stretching, I felt tired for the first time today. Last night's deep sleep had been essential to getting through the day. Maybe those painkillers had helped had played a major role, too.
I heard the pot rattling on the stove, so I got up and dumped a good amount of spaghetti in. I stirred it around and watched the bubbles jump up out of the water as I thought.
After eating something, I was going to face my uncertainties and go down to the police station. I was going to answer their questions as truthfully as I could. A sense of dread filled me as I thought about the types of questions they were going to ask. What happened? Did you see your attacker? How did you heal so fast?
How did I heal so fast? I rocked back on my heels as the thought hit me. How had I recovered from an almost fatal stab wound in less than a week? The only answer I could think of was: Callum Knightley. He had been there that night, and that would explain the three days of unconsciousness instead of the usual six.
My breath left me slowly. I owed him. I owed him bad. And I hated owing people. It's a subjective debt that creates more problems than it solves.
The spaghetti was
done eight minutes later. I poured the tomato sauce over an enormous bowl of spaghetti, and sat back down at the table. I was so hungry that when I finished that one, I had another.
As I was locking up, about to leave for the police station, I heard masculine voices laughing from across the hall. Will must be having another football night with his friends. It was the third in the past three weeks. I deciding right there and then that this was probably the best time to talk to Will. He couldn't ask me questions for too long because his friends expected him to yell at the television screen with them.
I stood in front of his apartment door, and fixed my ponytail. I exhaled and knocked. Will answered, head turned, in the middle of conversing with his friend, Slade, who was standing behind him.
"Yeah, Slade, you keep on thinking that," he said, then turned to me.
I gave him my best friendly smile. "Hey, Will."
"Oh." Will looked surprised. "Hey! I thought you were Paulie, arriving late as usual."
Slade sidled up to the door to stand next to Will. He flashed me a roguish grin and called behind him, "Hey, guys! It's Dahlia."
A chorus of "Hey, Dahlia!" came from the living room. I greeted back, "Hey, guys. How's the game?"
Slade said loudly, "It sucks."
Groans of agreement came floating down the hall. I smiled, and turned to Will, who was watching me with a small smile. "Now a good time to talk?"
He nodded. "Sure. You wanna come in?"
I shook my head, making my ponytail swing back and forth. "Depends. Do you want privacy or not?"
Slade smirked. "Will tells us everything anyway," he said, elbowing Will in the ribs. "Don't you, Will? He doesn't shut about you, even when we tell him we're going to shave his head when he's sleeping if he doesn't stop."
Will's cheeks flushed, and Slade thumped him on the shoulder. Slade walked down the hall and turned right into the living room. He gave me a knowing wink before disappearing.
Will shut the door behind him gently. He leaned against it and crossed his arms casually. "How are you?"
"I'm good."
"What happened last night? You almost fainted."
I shrugged. "I'm not quite sure," I said, "but I feel fine now."
Will looked unconvinced. "Are you sure? You still look a bit pale."
I waved a hand nonchalantly. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."
Will picked at his sweater. "Why was, uh," he said. "Why was Callum Knightley in your apartment?"
"Business. He hired me to be a temporary bodyguard for this event he's going to."
"Oh," he answered. "Couldn't someone else take the job?"
I frowned. "Why?"
"I mean, well, you're not," he stammered, "at full…health. You just got stabbed, and you, uh, nearly fainted yesterday."
"I'm fine, Will."
"But couldn't that Veronica chick do it for you? Do you have to take the job?"
I sucked in a breath. "Yes. It's not much, really. Just a standard bodyguard job."
Will was skeptical. "But Knightley is a target, isn't he? He's involved in California's underground dealings, right?"
"If any bad guys try and come close to us, I'll just shoot them, 'kay?" I smiled humourlessly.
Will didn't find that amusing. He bit his lip, and said, "You push yourself too hard."
I looked up at the ceiling and huffed, "No, Will, I don't. It's the way I work. And I like the way I work."
"Dahlia," he said. "You need to slow down and enjoy life."
I glowered at him. "What tells you I'm not?" I asked.
"You can tell yourself you're happy," Will replied, "but we both know the truth."
Beginning to get angry, I crossed my own arms over my chest. "And what would that be?"
"That you're pining for something more," he said.
I just gave him an unfriendly look. He stood straight, and came a bit closer. His bright blue eyes were hesitant as he took in my expression.
"I know you want to let someone in," he said quietly.
His friends inside whooped loudly. Someone must have scored a touchdown.
I let my arms fall to my sides. "Will," I said, "I don't want to do this right now."
He stretched out a hand and touched my arm gently. "Admit it, 'Lia."
I pulled away from his touch. "Admit what?"
"That you need someone else besides yourself," was his simple answer.
"Like who?" I scoffed, trying to disguise my discomfort with ignorance. "Who do I need?"
Will took a step back, eyes on the ground. "Don't you see?" he said through gritted teeth. "Don't you know?"
"No, Will," I said honestly. He was getting frustrated with me, and I wasn't quite sure why.
He looked up at me with troubled eyes. "Me, Dahlia," he said, voice rising. "Me!"
We stared at each other for a few seconds in silence. "Will," I said softly.
I reached out a trembling hand, but he turned away from me. "Will," I said again. "I'm sorry."
He looked up at me, angry and sad at the same time. He made me feel guilty for not figuring it out sooner. My heart wrenched out of my chest as he stared at me with those incredible blue eyes. I wanted to cry. That was the second time in the same week. The tears prickled behind my eyes, but I fought them back.
My hand went out again, and Will let me touch his shoulder. Despite my efforts, a tear fell from one of my eyes, rolling down my cheek slowly. Will raised his hand to my face and wiped it away.
"You don't like to cry, do you, Dahlia?" he whispered, his hand resting on my face.
I looked down, and murmured, "I really am sorry, Will."
"I know," he said gently.
"I just need—" I began.
Will stopped me. "I will always be here for you," he said. "No matter what."
I smiled weakly. "Thanks."
Will's smiled back at me. All remnants of anger had been erased, and he moved in to hug me. I let him, and we stood there in the hallway, his arms wrapped around me, my cheek pressed into his chest.
"Oh, isn't this touching," drawled a familiar voice from behind me.
Will and I let go of each other, and I whirled around with a hand pressed to my heart. A man was lounging against the wall by my apartment's door, half engulfed in shadows.
"Jesus," I breathed.
"I've been called many things, but that's a new one," the man said with a sly smile.
Will had tensed up, his shoulders hunched and fists curled. He looked from the man to me. "Do you know this guy?" he asked me.
I dropped my hand from my chest, and frowned. "Unfortunately."
The man pushed himself off the wall, and walked out from under the shadows. It was Liam, Callum's bodyguard from the Rose Bud Café. I knew he must be a vampire. He had dark, almost black eyes. His thick brown hair was slicked back, and he looked a bit like Elvis Presley. Well, an Elvis Presley with fangs.
I saw his extended canines glimmer in the light as he smiled at me. I raised my eyebrows when I saw he was wearing black leather pants and a tight red shirt that showed off his lanky, slender form. He winked at me when he noticed my eyes trail over him. I shook my head in disgust.
"Are you going to introduce us?" Liam said in one smooth sentence.
I turned to Will, who was standing edgily behind me. He looked down at me, and I said, "Will, this is Liam."
Will took a moment, and then tilted his head in acknowledgement to Liam. Liam cocked his head, and said nothing as he observed us. I didn't like that glint in his eye.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him aggressively.
Liam smiled that predatory smile. It was laced with malevolence, and a sick kind of amusement. "I'm here to bring you to Mr. Knightley."
I knew I looked shocked. I recovered by saying, "I was about to go down to the police station."
Will started. "What? You never said anything about that."
"I was getting to it," I said touchily, not completely truthful.
Liam said, soundin
g resentful, "Mr. Knightley has taken care of the police for you."
"What?" I asked quickly.
"I said, Mr. Knightley has taken time out of his busy schedule to solve your law enforcement problems," Liam said with contempt.
I stared into his sinister face. "How—how did he do that so quickly?"
Liam showed me his teeth. "Mr. Knightley has certain…influence…with the people he interacts with."
"Oh," was all I said.
Groans came from within Will's apartment, and Liam's eyes flickered to the door with casual curiosity then to Will. "The Patriots won," he said.
Will jerked, and said, "What?"
I threw Liam a warning look. Liam smiled at me wickedly. "He's just guessing," I said to Will.
Will's apartment door flew open, and Slade came out with a disappointed look on his face. "You missed it, Will! The Patriots, oh man, you shoulda seen—"
He faltered when he saw Liam. I had a feeling he felt the danger coming off him in waves. He looked at Will, then to Liam, and finally, to me. "Another one of your friends, Dahlia?" he asked wearily.
I turned to Will, eyebrows high. "Another one of my friends?"
Will shrugged. He had been telling his friends about my personal life. Anger sparked in me, and I looked away from him.
Slade looked antsy, and said quietly to Will, "Come on, man. I think Caleb broke the remote."
Will looked down at me. I didn't meet his eyes as I said, "I'll talk to you later."
He touched my arm, but I stepped back from the doorway, and muttered, "Bye, Will."
Slade pulled a reluctant Will back in the apartment and shut the door firmly. I turned to glare at Liam.
"Thanks," I said nastily. "Great timing."
Liam leaned on the wall by my door again. He flashed me a dazzling smile. He looked extremely out of place, standing in my apartment building. With those leather pants, he should have been at some hardcore party or a strip joint.
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