by Sarina Bowen
“Oh hush,” I say quickly, because Skye looks like she wants to hide under a table. I do feel good, though. I’m not sure I could conceal it even if I wanted to.
“It’s the cider,” Zara says, oblivious to my girl’s discomfort. “That stuff has magical properties.”
“I’m buying a keg of it,” I decide aloud. “What smells so good? Can we have two of whatever that is?”
“This morning we have a quiche with leeks and Swiss cheese. If that doesn’t float your boat, there’s always the muffins or Roddy’s bagels.” She pours us two cups of coffee.
Still blushing, Skye orders a mini quiche.
“Make it two,” I say, digging a twenty out of the computer case I carry when I’m headed to work.
But Zara pushes my money back, and once again I’m stunned.
“Seriously?” My next comment is only half joking. “Is there something I should know? Are you ill?”
“I’m fine.” She shakes her head. “We’ll talk later. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll bring it over in a minute.”
Skye has already claimed the same sofa where we sat last time. It’s our spot, my subconscious suggests. If only. Skye still doesn’t expect to stick around. But right now her head is spinning. She’s worried about Rayanne, and she’s not thinking clearly.
There’s some work to do there, but I like a challenge. If I’m patient, I can make her realize that a second chance is a rare and special thing. There are obstacles—jobs and lives. But those things could work themselves out.
There’s no way I’m letting Skye walk out of my life a second time. It’s not happening.
Skye’s body language, though, suggests otherwise. Her back is as straight as a board, and she’s texting Rayanne on the burner phone. I peek over her shoulder. Where are you? Check in or I’ll ask Benito to declare the Jeep stolen and every cop in Vermont will be on your tail.
She presses send, and then stares at the phone, hoping for a quick response.
There isn’t one. Wordlessly, I hand over her coffee mug.
I sip my coffee and check my own messages. There’s one from Officer Nelligan. Sparks hasn’t been seen in twenty-four hours. I couldn’t find him last night, and he’s not with Gage this morning. I’m thinking he’s slipped out of the county alone. “Shit.”
“What is it?” She looks over my shoulder, too. “Where could he be?”
I quickly tuck my phone into my pocket. No sense in worrying Skye. “Let’s eat, honey.” My sister is approaching us with two plates. “And let’s talk about our plan for the day. I have to go and meet with my boss in Waterbury. My apartment is yours, of course. But maybe you can hang out with Zara when she leaves later.”
“Sure thing,” Zara says, depositing two plates and two silverware rolls on the table in front of us. “Yoga was canceled again. So I was thinking of heading into Burlington to do some shopping.”
Skye’s eyes widen, and then just as quickly narrow. My sister is making the effort of the century, but Skye doesn’t trust it. “I need to find Rayanne, frankly. I’m worried about her.”
“Ah,” Zara says, a hand on her hip. “Okay. Do you want me to figure out which Rossi can loan you a car?”
“No fucking way,” I say around my first forkful of excellent quiche.
Now both women are squinting at me. “Why shouldn’t she drive around if she wants to?” Zara asks.
“Reasons,” I sputter. I can’t sit in the middle of my sister’s coffee shop and discuss an investigation.
My sister rolls her eyes. “You two can hash it out. But come to me if you want help,” Zara says with a cheeky smile. “I’m no longer a bitch, but I’m still resourceful.”
She walks off, and Skye’s gaze follows her, looking puzzled.
“You cannot drive around the county looking for Rayanne,” I say after she’s gone.
“Maybe I need to look outside the county,” she says, pulling her own phone out of her bag. “Ah. My colleague finally got around to running a search for me. John Oscar Sparks, age twenty-six, convicted in 2015 on weapons charges… Oh, shinola. He is a bad dude!”
I actually grab the phone out of her hands to see what she’s got. And it’s all right there—Spark’s sordid past and three last known addresses. “What are you doing?” I yelp, making heads turn around us. I drop my voice. “Don’t look him up. Your job is to stay the hell away from this guy, and let me do my job.”
“It’s not working,” she returns at a whisper. “If you tell me you’re going to drive around the northern part of Vermont looking for Rayanne today, then take me with you. Otherwise I’m going to look for that Jeep myself.”
“In what car?” I fire back.
She bites one kissable lip. “There’s a perfectly good pickup truck in Raye’s garage. If you’ll go up to the house with me for five minutes, I could maybe find the keys.”
“There are a whole lot of problems with this idea. So many that I don’t even know where to start.”
“So that’s a no?” she asks, her tone dry. “I’ll ask Zara for help, then.” The look she gives me is full of heat and challenge. I’m so fucked. I just want to kiss that smug expression off her pretty face.
“Back up a sec,” I say. I reach for my mug and take a pull of my sister’s wonderfully strong brew. Also, I’ve hoovered half my quiche into my maw already and I might need a second one after this one is gone. “In the first place, before you tackle the world, eat your breakfast. All-night sex can really fire up the appetite.” I point at her plate.
Her eyes widen a trace, and she glances around as if concerned about being overheard.
“Now let’s think this through. You’re more useful to Rayanne if you stay where there’s ample cell phone coverage. Driving around all day won’t solve anything. There are hundreds of little roads. Where would you even start?”
“On a lake,” Skye says simply. “Especially one bordering Canada. I thought I’d drive up to Lake Memphremagog and look around.”
I nearly choke on a bite of quiche. Because that’s exactly where I think Rayanne has taken drug deliveries before. I have a camera on Gage’s fishing cabin there. But I don’t think Skye knows about that place.
“Jimmy Gage has a fishing cabin up there,” she says.
Fuck.
I take a sip of coffee and try to remain calm. “But you hate Gage. If you think he’s at Lake Mem, shouldn’t you drive in the complete opposite direction?”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Nice dodge, officer. I notice you didn’t confirm or deny that the cottage still exists. So that makes me think it does.”
It would really be more convenient if Skye weren’t so smart.
“And you’re right—I don’t want to see Gage again. I’m frankly terrified of him. But I can’t sit around doing nothing, waiting for this Sparks guy to find her. He was incarcerated for weapons charges! You have to get him, before he gets Rayanne.”
“I’m trying. But you’re not helping me by driving off looking for trouble.” There’s something else nagging at the back of my brain. “Hey—where did you see this truck, anyway?”
“It’s in her garage.”
“Color?”
She shrugs. “Black? Navy? Who cares?”
I do. A whole lot. And I have a full-on tingle down my spine now. I pull out my computer and flip it open.
“What’s the matter?” Skye asks.
“Probably nothing. I just want to check something.”
Now, there are lots of ways to figure out if Rayanne owns the same model of truck that nearly hit Zara’s car in the Gin Mill parking lot. But sometimes the quickest solution is the simplest one. I open up Facebook and type in Rayanne’s name. This won’t be the first time I’ve scrutinized her social media profiles. She doesn’t employ good privacy techniques. Rayanne is an open book.
I head right to her photo albums and start scanning for a pickup truck. And it’s right fucking there—in the background of a photo where she’s holding up a
big striped bass. Half the license plate is visible, too. It starts with ABX, but the other digits are obscured. The plate is yellow, not green like we have in Vermont.
Holy shit.
“Your sister owns a truck with New York plates?” I ask. In my investigation, I could never turn up a vehicle registered to her.
“Maybe? Rayanne moves around a lot. She’s only been back here a year and a half, right? She was in Buffalo for a while.”
I actually knew that. I’d found a record of her renting an apartment there when I did a deep dive through her credit history last month.
“Why do you care?”
I turn to look at Skye, who’s looking at me with big, trusting eyes. There’s really no easy way to say this. “Let me show you something.” I’ve looked at it so many times myself that it only takes me a second to find the image on my computer. “This is a still shot from a security video shot on the night when Zara was almost killed by an erratic driver.”
Skye leans in to look at the photo, then leans out again in a hurry, as if it might bite her. “You think that’s the same truck? You think Rayanne almost hit Zara? She would never do that.”
“I don’t think anything,” I say quickly. “But I’ve been looking for a match to this plate forever. The image is crappy and the shadows obscure the spot where the plate would say Vermont. But it’s possible that this is a New York plate, and a partial match with Rayanne’s truck. Look—they’re both Ford F150s.”
“That’s the bestselling vehicle in America!” Skye squeaks. “It proves nothing.”
She’s right. Except I’ve tailed Rayanne in her dad’s car several times. If she has a truck in her garage, she never drives it. And why is that?
“Maybe not,” I say slowly. “But I still need to show this to the Colebury officer assigned to this case, and he’ll probably check it out.” My voice is calm, but inside I’m shouting. Because I know on a gut level that Rayanne’s truck will match. We didn’t find any plate in the Vermont database that was a decent match. This has to be important.
Skye pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” I say just to placate her. “If the truck has no damage to its body, then she’ll be instantly cleared.”
“I didn’t see any damage.”
“Good,” I tell her. But after the truck cracked the door off Zara’s car, it fishtailed into a streetlight pole on its way out of the lot. Even if someone tried to repair it, the evidence will still be there.
“Can’t this wait until after we find her?” Skye asks. “She doesn’t even drink, Ben. She likes tea and kombucha. She couldn’t have been involved.”
In the next couple of seconds, I have two very startling realizations. The first is that this may be a big break for me. It doesn’t matter if the car accident is unrelated to the drug case. If a judge gives the Colebury police a search warrant for the unsolved hit-and-run, we might be able to search Rayanne’s home as well as the truck and the garage. And if she can’t be located, the warrant could be expanded—to her phone records, her EZ Pass, and so much more.
This is big. It’s a huge stroke of luck.
My other realization, though, gives me the cold sweats. This is how I lose Skye again. It won’t be her job or the two-hundred-fifty miles between our homes that takes her away from me again. If I lock up her only (sort-of) sibling, she’ll leave me forever.
If someone locked up Zara, I’d lose my shit.
The situation settles over me like an eerie calm. I become aware of all the ambient sounds in the coffee shop—the low murmur of my sister’s voice, and the tap-tap of the portafilter as someone ejects the spent grounds into the trash. I can hear my own pulse.
But this won’t even be a difficult decision. I will absolutely go after Rayanne if it helps me lock up Gage and Sparks. Gage has tormented my loved ones and the community of Colebury for over fifteen years. And I will do whatever it takes to put him away.
I’m doing it for Skye, too. Even if she won’t appreciate my methods.
“Listen.” I lower my voice. “Nothing will be solved by worrying. I’d better get to work. Are you going to be okay?”
“I always am,” Skye replies. But she won’t look me in the eye.
This wasn’t how I’d wanted the morning after our big night to go. I should be giving her deep kisses right now, and inviting her to be naked in my bed again when the day is done. But my life isn’t a fucking fantasy. “Please don’t drive off in search of Rayanne. Wait for her texts. Or go shopping with Zara. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
She puts her hand on my wrist. “Will you let me know what happens with the license plate? If it’s really a match?”
“I’ll call you in a couple of hours, no matter what,” I promise. “I just want one kiss before I go.”
“Here?” she asks weakly.
“Yeah. A goodbye kiss. People do it all the time.” I reach up and cup the side of her face, my thumb tracing her pale eyebrow. “Just a quick one. It’ll have to tide me over until I can kiss you everywhere later tonight.”
Skye studies me with her big blue eyes. I’m not the only one who’s afraid of what the day might bring. “Have a nice day at work. I will miss you.”
“Me too, honey.” I lean in and give her a gentle peck on her perfect mouth.
Or, rather, I meant it to be a gentle peck. But when my lips touch hers, I feel our attraction sizzle and snap. And I can’t resist deepening the kiss.
She grips my shirt and kisses me back. My Skye is a study in contrasts. She’s reluctant and yet passionate. Shy, yet also hungry.
“Whew,” she leans back suddenly, gulping oxygen. “That’s quite enough of that.”
I smile at her, trying to memorize the way she looks right now. I wonder how long it will take me to stop wondering if each time I see her might be my last.
Then I kiss her quickly on the forehead and get the hell out of there while I can still make myself leave.
Twenty-Four
Skylar
As Benito’s shapely backside exits the Busy Bean, I realize I’ve learned a lot in the last twelve hours. For starters, I didn’t know that you could be angry with someone and still wish he was naked on top of you.
What is happening to me?
I had fireworks-sex all night long for the first time in my life. It was amazing, but now I’m about twice as confused about Benito as I was before. He’s a good man. I trust him on a gut level. I crave him in ways I didn’t know were possible.
And yet I’m upset that he thinks Rayanne could have almost killed somebody. It doesn’t make a lick of sense.
I’m so twisted upside. I need my life to just slow down a bit, so I can think. But that’s too much to ask, it seems. I’ll have to settle for the rest of my quiche and a refill on my cup of coffee.
“Everything okay?” Zara asks, trotting towards me with a coffee carafe.
“It will be,” I insist, holding my mug out.
“I get off at eleven today when Roddy comes in to take over for me.” She fills my cup. “If you want to hang out, let me know by eleven.”
“Thank you,” I say, wondering why Zara seems so sincere all of a sudden. “It all depends if I hear from Rayanne. She was supposed to check in with me last night and she didn’t. I’m freaking out a little.”
Zara frowns. “Where is that girl, anyway? I got a text from the Green Rocks resort that yoga was canceled.”
“She, uh, didn’t say,” I admit. “I was supposed to spend the weekend with her, but she left town suddenly.”
Zara straightens up in surprise. “You didn’t drive up here to see Benito?”
“Not exactly,” I admit. “That part was an accident.”
“Well, I’m sure he appreciates it, nonetheless.” Then she winks.
After last night’s extra-curriculars, I’m sure she’s right. I have an involuntary flashback to straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders and…
Oh my. That’s going to le
ave a mark on my subconscious. I lower my face over my hot mug of coffee for cover.
Zara laughs. “If there’s anything I can do to help you get in touch with Rayanne, just say the word. Her house is right up the hill near mine.”
“I know. Thank you.” She turns to walk away, but I realize I don’t have all the information I need. “Hey, Zara?”
“Yeah?” she turns around.
“Benito said he’s trying to find a truck that almost hit you. What’s up with that?”
“Oh! Crazy story.” She sets the carafe down on the table and plops down in front of me. “It was August—the night of Audrey’s wedding. My boyfriend had just pulled up over there…” She points outside, toward the Gin Mill building. “I’d opened the car door to step out, and this truck accelerates toward us and drives right through my car door. He just clips it right off. I was almost right under its tires. Except my boyfriend yanked me back into the car by my arm just before it sped by.”
I flinch at the thought.
“They never caught the guy. It was probably a drunk driver. They swerved around the turn to exit the lot, and banged the back of the truck into the light post before turning out onto the road.”
“Whoa. Where did the truck hit the post?” I ask. “Did he sideswipe it?”
“Sort of. It was more of a hip check.” She shrugs. “I haven’t ever seen the video, because I didn’t want to relive it. But Dave still has nightmares about it.” She sighs. “Welp. I’d better tidy up before the next wave of thirsty people.” She gives me another unlikely smile and gets up to do her thing.
An hour later I’m walking back up the hill into Colebury. I don’t want to see Gage again, and I sure don’t want him to see me. So I’m wearing a Farm-Way cap and a hooded sweatshirt, both found in Benito’s closet. The shirt says Body By the Colebury Deli on it.