My new neighbor. We’ve only talked a few times. I avoid him for the most part. When someone is ridiculously handsome, I tend to turn into a blushing schoolgirl. And Silas from next door is exactly that. His piercing blue eyes, thick neck, and broad shoulders turn me into a bumbling fool. But this isn't the time for all that. There are bigger problems here, and I can’t let my neighbor become a statistic just because he’s gotten too close to me. I must be the reason Trevor is dead. Maybe a killer was watching me on the forums? A chill goes down my spine, and I edge closer to Silas.
Wait, did he ask me something? Oh, yeah. He did. I shrug in answer. “I’m fine. You, on the other hand, not so much.”
He gives me a curious look. His lips twitch, making that gorgeous face of his even more so.
“Don’t smile. You shouldn't be here,” I whisper yell even though we’re inside. It seems appropriate, considering the situation. I take Toby from his hands, putting him down on the floor. He doesn't run off. In fact, he rubs up against Silas’s legs. I get it. Silas is well over six feet tall, and I never thought I was a sucker for dirty blond hair and blue eyes, but here I am. I guess I’m not the only one, given the way Toby is whoring himself out on Silas’s ankles.
I fight not to reach out and poke the man’s chest to see if he’s as hard as he looks. He never tries to play up his size by wearing shirts two sizes too small like most of the guys do. And he doesn’t seem terribly self-involved for an unfairly handsome person. Trevor would stop at every mirror to look himself over. He was so self-absorbed. Maybe he was looking at himself in a mirror as the killer crept up behind him? I should write that in my true crime journal. But, no, a lot of that is just conjecture. This is real.
“Why shouldn’t I be here?” he asks, breaking me from my thoughts. Oh God, was I just staring at his chest? In my defense, it is eye level with me.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s for your own good.” I tuck one of my out-of-control curls behind my ear. “If you get too close to me, you might die.”
“I might die?” His lips twitch again.
I smack his chest and give him a stiff nod. This murder stuff is serious business. “Don’t smile.”
He looks down at my hand. I pat his hard chest before pulling my hand back. Yep, it’s as hard as it looks. Glad I confirmed that. “You would make good bait, though. But no, it’s not safe.” I go to the sofa and sit down. “You should go out the back door so no one sees you.” I point over my shoulder. “I don’t know you well enough to even let you in here, but Toby”--I shoot the fluffy traitor a glare—“seems to like you well enough.”
“We’re buds.” He gives me what I think is an innocent look, but to me it’s more of an I-can-melt-panties-with-my-pupils look if I’m being honest. He steps closer. “Tell me more about this bait.”
I wave a hand at him. “Forget I said that. Time to go.”
He walks over to the sofa and sits down right next to me. His thigh brushes mine as the sofa lets out a groan under his weight. I almost do the same with how close he’s sitting to me. I have to stop myself from leaning over to rub against him, taking a page from Toby’s book.
“I don’t forget anything you say.” He reaches for one of my books. “Romance?”
I give a tight smile. I do love a good romance book. He flips it open. I snatch it from his hand, but it’s too late. He saw. This time he doesn't fight a smile. One dimple forms in his cheek. He keeps getting hotter by the second. He takes the book back from me.
I don’t fight him. He pulls the outer sleeve off the book and drops it on the coffee table to see the real cover.
“The Mind of a Killer?” He lifts a brow.
“What?” I sputter. “It’s interesting. Plus, I need to know these things.” I lean in closer to him. “People are dying around me. That’s why you shouldn’t be here.” He turns his head to look at me. I can feel his warm breath on my lips.
“You think your boyfriend is dead?”
One can only hope.
“Why else would he disappear? No way he’s giving up his parents’ money.” They’ve been blowing my phone up for the last two days trying to find him. I bite my lip thinking it over. “Unless he’s the killer and had to go underground.” I hadn't thought about that. “He has a violent side. I’ve seen it firsthand. He tries to hide it.” I found that out the other day.
Silas lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. Right over the bruise that Trevor had given me. My eyes drop to my hands. I thought I’d covered it well. I feel embarrassed momentarily until I look back into those beautiful blue eyes.
“What happened there?”
“Clumsy. That’s all.” And that’s not really a lie. I’ve gotten plenty of bruises from jumping doorframes and aggressive flooring over the years.
All the same, I didn't want the police asking about it. I would get nowhere. Not with the type of parents Trevor has. It was better that I ended things with him. We were never going anywhere. I only agreed to date him because I thought I should get out there. He was nice and charming at first. But then I’d started looking for a reason to break up. There was no chemistry. When I’d seen a bunch of girls blowing up his phone, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.
Far from it. He exploded on me when I said something. Saying that if I would’ve put out, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to get it from other girls. Then he tried to backtrack and say I was the marrying kind. That he wouldn't do with me what he did with them. When I still pushed about ending it, that’s when he went over the edge.
“Did Trevor hit you?” Silas manages to cut through all my thoughts and ask the question I won’t answer.
My cheeks burn like fire.
“Don’t worry about him anymore.” Silas drops his hand. “You said he’s dead, right?”
“Unless he’s the killer.” Then I should worry. “And he only wants me to think he’s dead. What about that?”
“Okay, let’s back up a little. You said people keep dying around you?” He picks up another book.
“Yes. So Trevor is missing.” I tick off a finger. “My old boss was found in his garage with the car running.” Another finger.
“A missing person and what sounds like a suicide. It doesn’t sound like you have a killer”—he holds up one of my true crime books Killers Among Us for emphasis—“among us.”
I shake my head. I’m not buying it. There is a killer. I search around the table for my glasses.
“What are you looking for?” He leans back, oddly comfortable on my couch though he’s never been in my house before.
“Glasses.”
“Right here.”
“Huh?” I turn to look. He reaches up and pulls them from my hair.
“Thanks.” I blow my hair out of my face before slipping them on.
I shouldn’t be getting into the details with my nice neighbor who’s clearly out of his depth, but I can’t help myself. “Then there was Mr. Martin.” I hold up a third finger.
“Who?”
“Mr. Martin. He’s the one who pumps the gas at the Shell.” It’s our closest gas station. “The one on the corner.”