Page 57 of Skeletons in the Closet

But we were too late.

By the time we got the Jeep and returned to where the man had caught the bus, we were screwed. A quick investigation of the bus routes told us three buses operated along that stretch of road, and all three picked people up at the stop the man had used. The routes headed in vastly different directions around the city. Since we hadn’t noted which bus he’d gotten on, we had no way of knowing what way to go.

Diem was not happy, and we parked illegally at the bus stop for several minutes as he took his frustration out on the steering wheel.

After all those hours, the night had turned out to be a bust. It was past two, and both of us were worn out.

“What now?” I asked.

“We’re done.”

Reluctantly, Diem headed to the office, but when he asked where I’d parked my car so he could drop me off, I hesitated and didn’t answer.

“Tallus. Car. Where is it?”

“Let me come up,” I said.

“It’s two thirty in the fucking morning.”

“So?”

“I—”

“Let me come up, D.”

Diem wore a familiar look of uncertainty, but he didn’t continue to argue. He parked in the lot across from his building.The congested, construction-blocked road contained no traffic, so we crossed easily, unlike during the daytime. Under the unused scaffolding, we entered and aimed for the stairs.

Three flights up an echoey and damp stairwell. Down the hallway lined with a moldy brown carpet.

Diem adjusted the crooked sign outside his office before letting us in.

No words were spoken. He vented nervous energy.

Diem crossed the office space without turning on a light and entered his private living quarters. From there, he aimed for the fridge. The man didn’t function well without crutches. I’d seen him battle the urge to smoke all night, choosing gum and biting his nails. Now, he needed to lean on alcohol because I’d invited myself up, and he didn’t know how to tell me no.

When he offered me a beer, I shook my head. “I’m good. Do you have water?”

He tossed me a bottle. The plastic crinkled when I caught it, piercing the quietness of the room.

When Diem hesitated to open his beer, I urged him to go ahead. He drank deeply, eyes never leaving mine. A hundred questions brewed in his stormy grays. After he’d emptied over half the bottle, I removed it from his hand and set it aside with my water.

His muscles tensed when I encroached on his personal space. With the counter at his back, he had nowhere to go. I reminded myself Diem may not do well if he felt trapped or cornered.

“Touch me.” I held his gaze challengingly, my voice barely a whisper. “I know you want to, Diem.”

“I… I can’t.”

“You can. I want you to. I give you permission.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be. I’m not a nice person.”

“I don’t know who told you that, but they’re wrong.”

His throat bobbed.

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