Page 75 of Our Elliana

What’s left of me may not be a complete enough human being to be in love with Elliana, but I thought I knew her better than this. I thought she felt more for me—for the three of us—than this. I also never imagined her kicking me to the curb like Monroe once did. Maybe I’m being naïve. Or willfully obtuse. I know what day of the month it is.

I know the contract only has six or seven weeks remaining now that it’s December. I check the calendar on my phone. Six weeks. Christ. Yet I intentionally haven’t been thinking about it. I didn’t want to think about it. But ultimately, I’m right and she knows it.

Whatever happens or doesn’t is totally up to her.

“Oh, well... Okay.” She sounds flustered, and I shouldn’t feel glad about that. I do, though. She can offer to extend our contracts if she wishes. Only if she does that will the ball be in our courts instead.

I break free of her and get dressed. Still, I don’t abandon her in that workshop. I know she doesn’t want me to no matter what unfortunate can of worms she just opened. She’s frightened, more frightened than I’ve ever seen her. And if whoever’s doing this card bullshit thinks he can just waltz in here and torment her, he’ll have me to deal with instead.

Late in the afternoon, Detective Ruiz drops by the shop. Finally. An update on this case is way the fuck overdue.

He glances at me with a narrowed gaze, and I don’t like it. Who the hell is he to look at me like that?

“Jackson can hear anything I can,” Elle informs him, and it’s almost a reprimand. There’s my feisty firecracker. If I were a peacock, I might just fluff out my feathers in defiance.

Maybe my serving as her protector has her realizing that she shouldn’t entertain the idea of doing without me. Not ever.

“We’ve established some findings about the blood on the most recent card. It’s fake. The kind stores sell around Halloween. But there’s no DNA in the fake blood. We didn’t find fingerprints or other evidence that would allow us to determine the culprit’s identity. This means our subject knows to wear gloves and possibly something to restrain their hair, so it isn’t left behind.”

“You mean whoever came in that day had to have been wearing gloves and a hairnet?” Elle asks. “Wouldn’t that stick out like a sore thumb?”

“It doesn’t have to be a hairnet. Most are donning their gloves and hoods or caps with this frigid snap we’re having. Some are continuing to wear Covid masks, too. That’s unlikely to set off any red flags with your staff, either. We’re thinking that this person is likely to be of above-average intelligence and careful. They may be good at blending in and not drawing attention to themselves. They may have done something like this before.”

After this insightful look into the department’s profiling skills—let’s just say I’m not impressed—Elle helps her two part-time employees close, and we go home. There’s this air of frostiness between us that I can’t quite let thaw.

Nothing feels stable. Not her workplace safety, not the police’s ability to keep this from escalating, and come mid-January, not even my place in her life.

THIRTY-TWO: Bites and Nibbles

TRISTAN

I’m not proud of it, but I’ve been keeping myself scarce over the past few days. I did it because I knew my mood wouldn’t be fit for public consumption, but time got away from me. I didn’t expect to stay fucked up for this long. I’m lucky Elliana hasn’t fired me.

I’m ashamed to say that it took another threat on her life for me to pull my head out of my ass.

Ever since seeing that card at her workstation with that goddamn blood all over it, I’ve wanted to clock myself for being such a self-involved fuckwad. Even after she and Jackson return from Blingblang with Detective Ruiz’s update about the blood being fake, I don’t feel any real sense of relief.

---