Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,67
is probably worried.” Dad holds my phone up in the entryway of the kitchen. “And Aspen has sent you at least a dozen text messages. I haven’t read them, but they keep popping up.”
I reach my hand out for the phone and Dad tosses it over to me. I scroll through Aspen’s texts, each one a plea for me to call her. There are some texts from Hayes, too—even a couple of apologies…but for what? I’m the one who told him to leave. I deserved every word he said to me. He also says he needs to speak to me as soon as possible. Apparently he has some explanations, whatever that means.
I still can’t shake what Tanner said. Why else would he be searching for so many new suspects unless he was trying to take the focus off of himself?
It’s not possible. I can’t be that poor of a judge of character.
I respond to Hayes’s last text:
Me: Explanations?
Hayes: Will you meet me somewhere?
Me: Rasta Man Coffee in twenty?
I’m pretty sure this is a stupid idea, but since I feel like I’m banging my head against a wall trying to find the truth, and my life has already fallen apart, I don’t have much to lose.
Hayes: Ja-mai-can me crazy. See you in twenty.
Even though I’ve been the complete antithesis of “happy,” no matter how corny his jokes are, I still manage to laugh a little. I reach for my sweater and drop my phone into my pocket. With tunnel vision to the answers awaiting me, I make my way across the room.
“Where are you going, honey?” Mom asks, taking my tear-filled blanket from the couch and folding it neatly over her arms. “Are you going to meet with this Hayes?”
“Yes.” I press up on my toes, looking into the mirror over the mantle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I won’t be long.”
“Didn’t Tanner warn you about this man, Felicity?”
I turn to face her as I take my purse from the coat-hook. “Mom, I’m questioning everyone right now. I’ll be fine.”
“Want me to come with you?” Dad asks, shouting from the TV room.
“Dad, no. I’m fine. I’m a big girl.”
* * *
The pit in my stomach grows heavier as I near the coffee shop. I see his truck parked across the street and at this moment, I want nothing more than to believe Hayes, to be with him and to have the support from him that I’m so desperate for right now.
I walk into the sound of steel drums and find a different guy with dreads dancing behind the counter. Hayes is sitting at a table in the corner. He doesn’t turn to acknowledge me.
I pull a chair out beside him and sit down, placing my purse on my lap. “Hi,” I say, feeling a bit mousy and uncomfortable.
He turns to me; the look of fear is encompassing the green in his eyes. The hair on his chin is darker and thicker than the last time I saw him and he has dark, puffy circles under his eyes. Did I do this to him? “I know what you’re going through. I know what it’s like to think that everyone around you is your enemy—especially if you have people filling your head with bullshit.”
“Tanner said you tipped the police off, which led to questioning for Aspen and him.” I don’t know what I want to hear, but maybe if he at least admits to it, I’ll feel a tiny bit better.
“Didn’t you want my help? The PI firm I work for sends reports over to the police department. We talked about this.” We did.
“What did you find?”
He takes a sip from his water bottle and presses into the back of his seat, one leg now outstretched beside me. “When you have a past with someone, one with a less than positive history as Blake warned you, and the person is still current in your life, they need to be questioned—not always as a suspect, but they just might have information that could be helpful to the case. Aspen and Tanner were simply being questioned as friends of the victim—you.” This isn’t how Tanner made it sound. The anger and apprehension in his voice made me feel like the questioning was more invasive, more accusatory. “If you don’t want my help any more, just tell me, and I’ll stop. It was never my intention to cause you more stress.”
I didn’t think more stress was even possible.
“I just feel like I