theater? Note to self: shut up while you’re ahead.
She gives a stiff shake of the head as if I were suddenly far too boisterous for this fine java establishment. “I don’t think so. Hannah’s moving to Pittsburg.” She hustles her way to the door, and I hustle right alongside her. “She got a job teaching at an elementary school.”
“That’s too bad. I mean, great for her, but I’m not going to lie. Seeing all that primal girl power sort of put a smile on my face.” And second thoughts on my ring finger.
She pushes past me and speeds out into the humid arms of the pending afternoon.
“Say”—I start, trying my best to keep pace with her—“you didn’t happen to see anything suspicious that night, did you?”
“Nope. Not a thing.” She stops abruptly and takes a step back, nearly knocking her coffee into me. “On second thought.” Her impish features rearrange into a smile. “I did see that dark-haired gentleman that was seated next to the victim get up and follow him outside. I think it’s pretty obvious who did it.” She nods my way as if asking me to agree. I know exactly what dark-haired individual she’s referring to. He tried to corner me in the bar the other day, and I expertly ditched him.
“Oh, right. Yeah, the friend. I’m sure the police questioned him already. They did me. Have they questioned you?” Not anything too intimidating, just a few quick questions once they arrived that night. Quite frankly, I was shocked they didn’t take me downtown and shine the white-hot spotlight over me.
She shakes her head, taking another quick sip and wincing as if she burned her tongue. “Not really. From what I heard, the video cut out to the alley. Come to think of it, it sounds like an inside job. It was too convenient for the surveillance camera to cut out like that, don’t you think?” Her eyes bear into mine a moment too long, and I can’t help but feel as if she’s pointing the finger right at me.
“I guess so. Regardless, whoever killed Barry Larson that night got really, really lucky.” I frown at my own words. “But Barry wasn’t lucky, was he?”
She gives a short-lived laugh as she starts to stalk off. “Nope. Never was.”
I give a friendly wave and she does the same, but I caught that little gaffe at the end.
She knew him.
Shepherd
Another week goes by and my time at Briggs seems to be flying. For the most part, my weekly meet-up with my students is a positive event. I’ll admit, it’s a bit of an ego stroke to have dozens of faces looking at you, rapt at attention, eyes wide, mouth open as if every word I breathed were the gospel inspired by God. But there is one student in particular who doesn’t view me as a deity. In fact, she looks at me as if I’m about to gift her a modern version of the Black Plague. Serena. Try as I might to defuse her temper tantrums, it only seems to make them worse. Case in point, the fact she openly gags and looks as if she’s ready to vomit once I step into the Black Bear.
I can’t help but frown over at her from across the bar as she starts in with the theatrics. But I’m not here to enjoy the show, and I will admit solely to myself that I do get a mild rise in seeing her reaction. Something about the way her lips curl into a tight little ball, her face pinches a bright shade of pink, and that wild fiery red hair of hers only seems to grow to the ceiling at the sight of me. It’s an ego boost in and of itself, and I don’t mean that in any sexual way. Serena’s just a kid.
My stomach tightens at the thought. Okay, so she’s not such a kid anymore, but she’s no woman. A quick wave of heat bites under my arms, and I tick my head back a moment. I’m not really having visceral reactions about Serena, am I?
Crap. It’s definitely time to get laid. There’s no way I need my mind or my balls playing tricks on me about Serena. She’s like family, a little sister. Definitely off the table.
Another wash of heat flashes through me, and I try my best to cast all fornicating thoughts of her to the side as I head on over.
“What’s up, boss?” She slaps a menu