Page 6 of Skeletons in the Closet

I stalled, chuckling to myself.

“Don’t,” Memphis whined. “I’m tired. Let’s go home.”

Diem stood beside the Jeep, face shadowed. I couldn’t make out his features, but his body was wound tight as a spring.

“What?”

“I… need your help.” More fidgeting.

“Two minutes,” I told Memphis and the driver.

“Tal.” Memphis grabbed my wrist, but I shook him off.

“I’ll be fine.” I aimed to approach Diem, but an idea struck, and I returned to Memphis. “Kiss me.”

“Eww. What? Are you serious?”

“Just do it. On the mouth.”

Memphis pitched a face but planted a chaste kiss on my lips. I grinned. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”

I crossed the parking lot toward Diem, the cool night air blowing through my shirt and raising goose bumps. The brisk temperature dampened my buzz, but I still had enough alcohol flowing through my veins to dull the edge of irritation I might have felt if I’d encountered Diem sober. He was a perpetually frustrating man.

I stopped by the Jeep, arms wrapped around my middle for warmth, and we continued to stare at one another like we werestuck in a childhood game of Who’s Going to Blink First. As usual, the man remained obstinately silent, expecting me to read his mind.

“You said you needed my help?” I prompted.

He grunted an affirmative, glanced at the Uber, then back, and shifted his weight.

“Still don’t talk much, huh? Words, Diem. Use them, or I’m walking away.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I need your help.”

“Help with what?”

Diem studied the concrete under his boots. “A case.”

A jolt of excitement tickled the center of my chest. I’d always figured he wouldn’t come back. I’d offered to be an inside informant—or whatever he wanted to call it—for the police department, but Diem had never taken me up on it. Although maybe nothing had come up to require my insider knowledge until now. Was I sad or what? Something about Diem’s profession sang to me, and I was hard-pressed to tell him to fuck off. My days warming a desk in the dusty records department were wearing thin.

“A case?”

Another affirmative grunt

“You need to put more words together than that. What do you need me for exactly? What case? And how did you know to find me here?”

Diem wet his lips, seemed to ponder all the questions, then shook his head. “Never mind. Go fuck your boyfriend and come by my office tomorrow.” He paused, then added, “Please… If you’re able…” He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and growled, adding, “I would really appreciate your help, Mr. Domin—”

“I’ve had your cock down my throat. You can call me Tallus.”

“Sorry. I was…” Diem coughed, shifted his weight, glanced around the parking lot—again—zeroing in on Memphis in the Uber, and nodded. “I can go over everything… at the office. If you’re willing… to help… Please.”

His sentence was so stilted and painfully delivered that I had to hold back a laugh. Nothing had changed. I stared at the brooding man, assessing him, trying to read between the lines, but it was impossible.

“I’ll come with you now, but—”

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