Page 42 of Finding Love

And when we do, Craig will breathe his last.

18

EMILIA

The man in the long, black coat couldn’t look more out of place if he tried. Not that there’s anything particularly strange or unique about Craig as he sits on the sofa, but he doesn’t belong. Like a bull in a china shop, only he’s not rushing around and breaking things. Maybe it has something to do with his demeanor. The way he keeps rubbing his hands on his thighs and tapping his foot against the floor like a man with something on his mind.

“You probably don’t want to watch this.” I pick up the remote to turn off the new season of The Great British Bake Off show, I’ve been trying to catch up on. It’s not like I’ve been paying attention ever since Guilia’s call, anyway.

“It’s fine. I don’t care. It’s actually kind of soothing.” Not a minute after, he says that one of the contestants drops an entire bowl of batter on the floor while trying to get it into greased tins. “Oof. That sucks,” he groans out, wincing.

“So what’s up?” I prompt. Not that I mind the company. I don’t, in fact, even if Craig happens to be the company. I’ve been alone in here for days. Being in the same room as another person is a refreshing change, never mind how strange it is that he won’t take off his coat.

I turn to him, eyeing the coat, wondering what the deal is. “Is there something I can help you with?” I ask.

Some nameless emotion washes over his face, wrinkling his brow before it smooths out again. He wouldn’t be a bad-looking guy if he weren’t always either scowling or smirking, two expressions that have never been my favorite.

“It’s been a crazy few months.” His shoulders shake when he laughs. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”

“I’m still trying to remember the past few months,” I remind him with a short laugh of my own. I don’t feel like laughing, and there’s nothing amusing going on, but I feel the need to match his energy. Very strange, intense energy. I can’t put my finger on what it is strange about him. I only know something is.

“Do you want something to drink, maybe?”

I have to get off the sofa.

I have to leave the room.

I can’t remember a time when someone has thrown me off the way he is tonight.

“Do you have any alcohol around here?” He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles and making himself comfortable while still wearing his coat. “I could use a drink.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of water or iced tea, but there should be some in the cabinet.” Yes, maybe he does need a drink. Maybe that would calm him down a little bit.

“Don’t put yourself out or anything,” he insists as I make a short walk to the galley kitchen. I open the cabinet closest to the refrigerator and find a quarter of a bottle of bourbon, some rum, and a little amaretto.

“Bourbon?” I call out to him.

“Sure. Rocks, if you have some.” I made a fresh tray of ice yesterday since there’s nothing grosser than ice that’s sat in a freezer for ages.

I return to the living room and hand him the glass, which he accepts with a brief grin. “Nothing for you?” he asks when he notices my other hand is empty.

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” I wander to the windows overlooking the street and look out the way I did earlier. The black car is gone. The space is empty. “That’s weird,” I murmur to myself.

“What is?” Craig asks behind me.

He can’t see my eyes rolling. “Oh, I was just thinking it’s weird that the guard left without somebody else replacing them right away. That’s how it usually is,” I explain, looking up and down the street. I don’t see any other familiar vehicles.

Why not?

I hear the ice rattling in the glass. “Oh, that’s the problem I was talking about when I came in.”

Now we’re finally getting somewhere. I turn away from the window. “Did something happen?”

“I was going to come up and say hello, check in on you,” he explains in an offhand sort of way that contradicts the uptight, nervous energy from earlier. “And whatever moron Santoro assigned down there didn’t know who I was and didn’t want to let me up here. We exchanged words, and he said he was going to call your boyfriend to straighten things out.”

Why did it take me so long to see what’s been wrong all the time? “How did you know I was here? What, is somebody at the house, keeping you posted on every move I make?” The idea stirs nausea in my gut. Why not take out an ad in the paper?

He flashes one of his trademark smirks before sipping his drink, sighing after he swallows. “In a way, yes. He wanted increased attention on your building and had to go through me. I have a small group of guys I know I can trust, so nothing has to run past the higher-ups. We sort of handle things quietly amongst ourselves.”

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