He looked back at me. “Cab.”
“And how are you getting home? I doubt there are any running this late.”
“Walk, probably.”
“You idiot” I said, shaking my head. “Just stay here.”
“Stay with you, sis?” he asked, grinning for the first time. “Seems like we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Is this business?”
“Something like that.”
“Stay in the room next door. It’s empty.”
“I’d rather stay in your bed. You can wrap those legs around my face, let me taste your pussy.”
“Go to sleep, Easton.”
“Your loss.” He turned and left. I heard the room next door open and then close.
I shut my own door, locking it. I climbed back into bed, my head reeling.
What was that? He had acted so strange back at his office, but this was even stranger still. What was he looking for?
It had to do with the article I read. Something about that murder rang a bell for him, and he was probably worried.
But why worry about me?
I pulled the covers up over my head, mortified and worried. I was terrified that he had heard me whispering his name as I’d touched myself, and I worried that I was somehow in danger. He seemed to think there was a possibility.
I fell asleep thinking about him, alternating between worry and lust.
In the morning, I woke up slowly. I got up and stretched and then padded softly down the hall. His room’s door was already standing open, the bed an empty mess.
6
Easton
I looked through the binoculars at a normal-looking suburban home. There was nothing remarkable about the place, except maybe that it was being watched by a private detective and his stepsister.
He was supposed to be in there, and supposed to be cheating, but I hadn’t seen a single peep from him or from his supposed mistress for hours. The client had told us that he brought her home when she was away for business conferences, but she had never been able to prove it.
So far, she seemed paranoid. I made a little note in my log and glanced over at Laney. She looked like she was sleeping, but I knew better. She’d been strange all day, and I couldn’t really blame her, not since the night before.
How could I explain to her what that was all about? Partially fueled by alcohol, but mostly fueled by my own paranoia, I took a cab over to my mother’s place just to check up on my stepsister. She had no clue why, of course, and could never guess. I wasn’t even sure if my mother knew, though she probably did.
The article had tipped me past the point of no return. For the last few months I’d had my suspicions, had my hunches, but there was no proof, only a string of seemingly disconnected dead bodies popping up across the country, slowly honing in on me.
The girl with her fingers removed was a message, a clear sign.
It was a message to me from the past. From a violent, deadly past. From a man I’d thought was gone for good.
“What’s that?” Laney said, pulling me back into the present.
I followed her gaze and saw it. There was a woman walking up the sidewalk, wearing a bathrobe and slippers.
“A neighbor?” Laney asked.
I began snapping pictures. “That’d make sense.”
“She looks like a normal person.”
“Of course she does.” I snapped away as the woman walked up the driveway, glancing around nervously. “These people aren’t monsters.”
“But they’re cheaters.”
“Yeah, they’re cheaters. They’re not good people. They’re just not monsters.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
I was quiet for a second. “I know monsters. And believe me, these people are probably shitty and selfish and confused, but they’re not bad.”
We watched as the woman in the robe knocked on the door. After a second, our mark answered and quickly ushered the woman inside. I snapped a few pictures, getting a nice one of his face looking around outside.
“Now what?” Laney asked. “We bust in, catch them?”
I laughed. “Yeah, right. And go to jail right after that.”
“So we’re just waiting here?”
“Pretty much. We’ll get pictures and report back on what we saw.”
“Sounds pretty lame. We should catch them in the act.”
“I almost never catch them in the act.”
“Why not?”
I thought for a second. “You just don’t need to. Most people don’t need proof. They just need someone to confirm their suspicions. These pictures will probably be enough.”
“What if they’re not having sex in there?”
“They are.”
“Maybe they’re just playing board games. Maybe he’s just lonely.”
“And maybe I piss sugar.”
Laney laughed. “You know, some people actually do piss sugar.”
“Okay, and my shit smells like roses.”
She made a face. “Don’t be gross.”
“I’m just saying, trust me. I know people. I’ve been doing this for long enough to tell you they’re fucking.”
We lapsed into silence, and I hoped she was beginning to understand what it was like to be a real private detective. Most of the job was about waiting, patience, and intelligence. More often than not, we didn’t bust into someone’s house and take pictures. Instead, we sat around and waited and watched, learning as much as we could, and then we let the client decide on their own what the truth was.
I couldn’t count how many clients had blamed me for their spouse’s cheating, at least at first. Even when they had their suspicions, they couldn’t fathom that it was true. But people are always people, inherently flawed and broken. Eventually they saw the truth.
“So are we going to talk about last night?” Laney said finally.
I glanced at her. “No, we’re not.”
“You were looking for something.”
“I was drunk.”
“You weren’t drunk,” she said. “Not that drunk at least.”
I leaned closer to her. “You’re right. Sober enough to remember how fucking cute you look with bedhead.”
She blushed. “Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. I’m always thinking about how best to slip my fingers inside your panties and to make you come.”
She looked away, and I couldn’t read her expression. “Come on. Something about that article set you off. We both know it.”
I turned away from her, not wanting to get into it. “It’s a long story.”
“We have nothing else to do.”
“Sorry, sis. Not today.”
“So are you going to show up at my room every night from now on? Check under my bed for monsters?”
“The only monster in your life is me,” I said, smirking at her. “Don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“So do you want me to show up at your room every night?”
“No,” she said quickly. A little too quickly.
“Are you sure? I could sleep next door, sneak into your room after our parents go to bed, tongue that little pussy until you moan.”