Page 52 of Stay in Your Lane!

Everett guided me to the other side of the booth. Once I was situated, he took his own seat. Before my vision had even cleared, he pushed a piece of paper across the table.

I peered at it.

Someone threatened me about the case.

My head snapped up. “What?”

He stared back at me, fear written all over him. “Detective Reardon,” he whispered so softly I had to lean in to hear. “He came by today. My sister interrupted before he said much, but he was basically telling me to leave it alone.” Everett drummed his fingers rapidly on the table and dropped his voice a little more. “And he was wearing black Air Force 1s.”

I swallowed, the acid refusing to move this time. “No shit?”

“No shit.” His eyes were huge, and for all his concern about me being too white, he looked almost as pale as the Goth kids.

A piece clicked into place. “That’s why you wanted to meet here,” I whispered. “Not at one of our places.”

He nodded. “I mean, maybe it’s stupid to talk about it in public but…” He chafed his arms. “I don’t know. I was…” He bit his lip and stared at the table. The word “scared” didn’t need to be spoken, and now I felt like an ass for thinking he wanted to meet me here to dump me. All day long, he’d probably been freaking out over the detective threatening him, and I’d been… I mean, it wasn’t like I could’ve known, but still.

I carefully leaned closer, folding my arms over the menu I hadn’t touched. “Someone threatened me too.”

Everett’s eyes went huge. “They did?”

“Yeah. And he was also wearing black Air Force 1s.” I took a deep breath—well, notthatdeep, becauseow—and told him what happened at the plant. By the time I was done, I wassweating, and I think he was too. “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.

He wasn’t nearly at a loss for action. “I think we should start by taking you to the hospital.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Dude, what if he did some serious damage? What if he broke some ribs?”

“I highly doubt he broke any ribs,” I insisted. “I wouldn’t have been able to move if he had.”

“But you could’ve bruised them. Or damagedsomething.” His expression was full of sweet earnestness and genuine fear. “What could it hurt? Just to make sure you’re really okay?” He paused. “And to document it. In case, you know, something else happens.”

My spine prickled. That was something I hadn’t thought about. And maybe getting a photo of my back would be a good idea; I doubted there was enough definition to identify a specific shoe impression, but the size and shape could still be damning.

“I documented the footprint on my back,” I murmured. “And I kept the Tyvek suit.”

“Good,” Everett said, but he sounded dismissive. “I’m more worried about you right now. And making sure there’s a record of this in case you can press charges.” He stared at me with pleading eyes. “Can we please go to the emergency room?”

Why did I even think I could say no to those big, blue eyes?

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 15

EVERETT

Iwas in the hospital a lot when I was a kid.

Not, like, alotlot. It wasn’t like I had a chronic illness or was being abused, but I was a clumsy kid. At least once a year I ended up in the emergency room thanks to a broken finger or a dislocated collarbone or, on one notable camping trip in the backyard where I accidentally set my tent up on top of an anthill, an allergic reaction to their bites that led to anaphylaxis. Not fun.

For a while there it tapered off, then increased a lot in the last year of my mom’s life, when she was in and out for cancer treatments and the shit that came with it. It had been a decade since I was in the ER regularly, but I wasn’t surprised to see that I knew the charge nurse sitting at the desk. “Hey, Nurse Eshun.”

The slender Black woman behind the counter peered at me over her spectacles with a raised eyebrow. “Well, if it isn’t Everett Mulligan.” She glanced over to Kyle, who was holding himself gingerly beside me. “It seems like you’re not here for yourself tonight, hmm?”

“Nope. Stunner, I know.” That got a little smile out of her.

I let Kyle explain the circumstances—which he phrased as a work accident, not going into details. I couldn’t blame him, even though I kind of wished he’d be more specific. Doctors needed specifics to do their job right, and he was clearly in pain.

---