Page 30 of Always Knew It Was You

But surely, she can’t be naive enough to think that I was wrong in my assessment of him. Heck, I was there myself when those smugglers were shooting at Declan. I helped fish his body out of the pond; the poor guy almost died.

And while Carly’s cousin wasn’t among the shooters, he confessed that he was working with the people who did it. Not only that, but he’d broken into Emma’s house and ransacked the place, destroying furniture, all in an attempt to steal something from her. Despite everything Emma and her grandfather did for the boy.

As far as I’m concerned, someone like that is beyond redemption, and Carly is better off without him. But she still seems to care about him for whatever reason. She even looked guilty when she hung up the phone.

And I won’t lie, that’s part of the reason I said what I said, about her not talking to him for the duration of our deal.

I know deep inside she probably knows that she’s better off staying away from him, but perhaps she needs someone else to give her the order so she doesn’t have to deal with the guilt. She needs it to be someone else’s call.

And I have no problem doing it, because I truly don’t mind being the bad guy.

What I do mind is the way she looked at me when I said it, like I’d said something hurtful to attack her personally. I can’t figure out why she looked at me like that.

It’s bothering me.

Why?

I release a sigh and grip the steering wheel, clenching my teeth. Whatever. If she wants to be pissed because I pointed out something that was fairly common sense, then that’s her prerogative. I don’t even know why I care anyway. What we have is a mild friendship at best, but it’s mostly a business deal. And as much as I like Carly, I have no doubt that once our business together is over, I probably won’t see her again.

I’ll be too busy living my life somewhere far, far away from Laketown.

In a flash, something jumps into the road, and on instinct, I immediately hit the brakes.

“Jesus.”

My car comes to a near-instant halt, jerking me forward and then back in my seat as I blink at my windshield. My heart pounds with adrenaline, rushing through me. It takes me a second to make sense of events.

What the fuck did I just hit? A deer? A raccoon?

Turns out, none of the above.

It’s a shorter man, leaning on my bumper looking bleary-eyed at me.

“What the fuck?” I get out of the car as the man mumbles to himself.

“You didn’t hit me,” he drawls drunkenly. “You were supposed to hit me.”

I stare at his state, noting his five-o’clock shadow, red eyes, and most prominently, the brown bag with a bottle clutched in his hand. Something about him seems familiar but I can’t put my finger on it.

“What are you, fucking nuts?” I ask him, my New York accent thickening. “Get the fuck off my car.”

“No,” he says stubbornly. He lies on the bumper. “I’m gonna call the cops and tell them you hit me unless you give me five hundred bucks right now.”

“Oh, that’s your grift?” I laugh darkly. “And what, you think the cops are going to believe you looking like that?”

He glares at me, offended. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You look like shit. Plus you stink.” I approach him and spot his wallet sticking out from his back pocket. I swipe it and open it.

“Hey, that’s mine.” He lunges at me, but I sidestep him easily and he staggers to the ground. I frown at what I’m seeing.

His ID is in there and it says he’s Raymond Huntley.

That’s Carly’s last name, and Nate’s last name too.

Could he be…

“You wouldn’t happen to know Carly Huntley would you?”

---