The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,98

a mild concussion—no caffeine, no painkillers, lots of rest. No strenuous activity for a while.”

Trey cocked his head. “Strenuous?”

“Your call.” He looked my way. “This the lucky woman?” Trey just nodded.

“Is she gentle?”

Trey considered. “She can be.”

I covered my face with my hand. “Oh, good Lord.”

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave. “Lie down for now, and then we’ll get you in a room.”

And then we were alone, face to face. He lowered the compress onto the table. There was so much to talk about. But it would wait.

I moved closer, right up against him, and took his hand. He didn’t flinch or stiffen like I was expecting, just kind of froze. Then he put his other hand on my back, resting it between my shoulder blades. He patted softly, tentatively, like he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.

But it was.

***

That night I slept in a very uncomfortable chair in the lobby, right between Garrity and Eric. The next morning, Rico showed up with a box of hot Krispy Kremes for everyone and an espresso shot cappuccino for me. He had one for Eric too, who shook his hand gravely.

They released Trey right before noon. He immediately wanted to retrieve his Ferrari, but Garrity insisted he and Eric would take care of that. I volunteered to drive Trey home in Eric’s Jaguar, and to my surprise, both Trey and Eric agreed to let me do it.

As Eric went to bring the car around, I saw the story on the TV in the lobby. All the reporters wore black or gray and mused intensely about the notoriety of celebrity. Trey didn’t stay to watch—he went on to the pick-up area. Garrity touched my elbow.

“I meant to tell you,” he said. “They found Nikki.”

“Oh no! Was she—”

“Dead? Not on your life. She was hiding out with relatives in California. Once she talked to the cops, she bolted.”

“Smart girl.”

“Too bad she was the only one.”

I couldn’t argue. But I hadn’t been thinking as much about Eliza as I’d expected, probably because it was too painful. I’d wanted an innocent victim that I could somehow avenge, but she wasn’t that. No glory for the victors, no garlands, no laurel crowns. But it was over. I was grateful for that at least.

“One more thing,” Garrity said. “You might be getting a call from a friend of mine, a cop.”

“Crap. What have I done this time?”

“It’s nothing official. It’s just that he got engaged recently and his fiancée is skittish about the weapon thing. I told him you might could help, but then, that was before all this went down.”

I noticed then that Eric had the car waiting, that he and Trey were standing beside it, deep in conversation. Trey had his arms folded, but then Eric clapped him on the shoulder, and they shook hands like men sealing a land deal.

Garrity was still talking. “It’s not like he wants her to be Annie Oakley or anything, but—”

“What does the fiancée want?”

Garrity smiled. “That’s a good question. Tell you what, I’ll have her give you a call on Monday. If you’re feeling up to it.”

Would I be? I tried to access the memories—the dead girl across the street, Charley being shot right in front of my eyes, the feel of the hot metal against my temple and the cold metal in my hands—and all I got was blank numbness. I knew that would change. But at the moment I was grateful for it.

“I don’t know what I’ll be up for,” I admitted. “But tell her to call me at the shop. I’ll be putting some flower boxes out front, marigolds maybe. My mother loved marigolds.”

***

I drove Trey home. He stared out the window the whole way. Once I saw him put his hand to the glass, count to five.

“We’re going to have to talk about Gabriella,” I said.

He nodded. “And the cigarettes.”

This caught me off guard, but I rolled with it, a skill I was going to have to practice. I pulled up in front of his building. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?”

“I’m sure. I have a lot to think about.”

He didn’t move to get out, however. He just sat there, looking out the window. On the sidewalk, a construction crew passed. They were talking loudly, laughing, still wearing their orange hardhats. In the distance I saw the gleam of an I-beam, swinging in the clear sharp sunlight. Always going up, Atlanta was. Always something higher and better.

“I didn’t see any of it,” he said. “I can tell when people are lying, but I can’t see real deception. I would have been able to figure it out before the accident. But I can’t see anything except what’s right in front of me now.”

“You couldn’t have seen this. Landon was too good.”

“I know Marisa wants to talk to me. But I don’t know if I want to talk to her.” He didn’t look at me. “Phoenix was all I had.”

“No, it wasn’t. And it never will be.”

He turned to face me. There was something achy and tender and afraid in his expression. But strength too, and goodness, and bravery.

“This is where you kiss me,” I said.

He leaned forward, touched his lips to mine. It was all I could do not to fall against him and bury my face in his shoulder.

But I let him go. And he did go, without saying another word. As I pulled away from the curb, he stopped at the entrance and looked back. I watched him in the rearview mirror, still standing under the awning as I turned the corner.

I hadn’t even reached the stoplight when my phone rang.

“Did you mean it?” he said.

I took a deep breath. “Give me three minutes.”

A soft click, then empty air. I swung into the left lane and made a U-turn.

The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,98

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