Page 110 of Long Gone

He nodded but didn’t make any move to leave.

I nodded toward the back door. “This is your cue to go.”

He chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere. While it’s doubtful those men will return, I plan to be here if they do.”

“Why?” I asked skeptically. “I don’t mean shit to you.”

“Because we haven’t found out who murdered Hugo Burton, and I can’t let you get murdered until after I have the answers I need.”

“For the questions you refuse to share with me,” I said bluntly.

“You have your agenda, I have mine. Neither one of us has ever made a secret of that.”

“Just like last time,” I said. “Tell me, will anyone end up dead this time?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. With Ava Peterman’s kidnapping, his agenda hadn’t been to kill anyone. He’d wanted to stop Todd Peterman from blackmailing him.

Beating up John Michael Stevens had been a bonus. Killing the Sylvester brothers had been part vengeance, part cleanup.

“Go to bed, Detective,” he said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but something in his voice stopped me. It made me see him not as the hardened crime boss he’d been purported to be, nor the no-nonsense bar owner I’d gotten to know. No, the exhaustion in his voice and the flat light in his eyes was something I saw every day in myself, defeated by life and plodding through.

Funny, how I’d never given a single thought to the fact this man had given up his entire life to come here. As far as I knew, the only person he brought with him was his attorney. Not friends or family. He’d named the tavern after his brother but left him behind in Fenton County. Was he lonely too?

Maybe the blood loss had gone to my head, making me soft. “Do whatever you want,” I said, turning my back to him and shuffling out of the kitchen. “You seem to do it anyway.”

As I walked into the dining room, my mother’s sideboard caught my eye. I saw a couple of wine bottles she must have bought for some upcoming dinner she hadn’t told me about but would probably require me to attend. My mouth watered and my fingers itched to grab one. The need for a drink hit me full force, and I didn’t have the will power to deny it. Why would I? I’d had a hell of a day, and I was on edge. A drink would help me settle down and go to sleep.

I grabbed one of the bottles, relieved to see it was a screw top, then saw Malcolm standing in the doorway, watching.

“I really don’t need a lecture right now,” I snapped.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “No lecture. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to give up alcohol.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” I said, turning my back to him and heading to my room.

“Just don’t get so shitfaced you can’t work tomorrow. And take some water with you. You’re already dehydrated. The alcohol’s only gonna make it worse.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and I continued on to my room.

I turned on the lamp on the bedside table and sat on the bed. Opening the bottle, I took a long pull. The liquid slipped down my throat, appeasing my thirst, but I knew Malcolm was right. I needed water too.

I kicked off my shoes, nearly collapsing right then and there. But I knew I’d be uncomfortable sleeping in my jeans, so I took off my pants and started to crawl into bed in my bra and panties. I caught glimpses of the blood on my chest and stomach, but didn’t care, I’d clean myself up tomorrow.

I was just starting to pull up the covers when Malcolm pushed open the door and walked into the room, holding a tall glass of water and a shorter glass.

“Ever hear of knocking?” I asked, but I couldn’t muster up the heat I’d meant to put behind it.

“I knew you’d tell me to go fuck myself, and I’m too tired for that game. We’ll save it for tomorrow.” He handed me the water and I took it. Even though part of me wanted to throw it in his face, I knew my anger was irrational. I needed the water, so I drank it. He picked up the wine bottle, not looking surprised that it was already open, and began to pour it into the juice glass.

I nearly called him on it, but part of me was grateful. If I didn’t fall asleep within a few minutes of getting into bed, there was a risk of me drinking the whole thing. I hated that I’d admitted my drinking needed to be policed, but in this instance, I decided it was okay. I needed to be as alert as possible in the morning.

After I drank half the glass of water, I set it on the nightstand, and to my surprise, Malcolm held out the half-full juice glass to me.

I took it, looking up at him. “Do you ever get tired of it all?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, and he cleared his throat. “You’ve been through a lot today. You need to go to sleep.”

I took a long sip. “I’m slipping,” I said, then to my frustration, my eyes began to sting. “Investigating. I used to be good.”

He took the juice glass from my hands, then said more softly than I’d expected, “You found Hugo Burton’s body when no one else has in five years. That doesn’t sound like slipping to me.”

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