Page 3 of Luck of the Devil
No one had said this would be easy.
I rinsed my hands off in the sink, then grabbed a paper towel and held it with my fist while I started to make a latte. A few minutes later, I carried my steaming mug with slightly shaky hands to my small round table. I’d just taken a seat when I heard a knock at the door.
My brow lifted in surprise. Everyone in town was at the funeral luncheon. Who could be at my door? I knew Louise was worried about me, so maybe she’d taken the rest of the afternoon off to sit on my futon and watch romcoms like we’d done the last two nights.
I got up and opened the door, surprised when I saw James Malcolm standing on my front porch. He was wearing a pair of faded Levis that hung low on his hips with a black t-shirt.
I stared at him in surprise while he studied me with his usual detached stare.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“The same could be said for you,” he said. “I suspect half of Lone County is at your mother’s funeral lunch.”
I suspected he was right. “How did you know I was here?”
He gave me a look that screamed, please… Over the last month, I’d worked with him on two cases and learned he knew plenty of things about this town and its people. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to know my whereabouts—or at least for him to know where I wasn’t.
“Okay,” I conceded. “Why are you here?”
His glaze dipped to my right shoulder, then back up to my face. “Your stitches need to come out.”
I’d gotten injured when two men had broken into my mother’s house last Thursday. They’d proceeded to ransack my apartment. I’d been hiding in my mother’s house, but I’d followed them out here and tried to lock them into my apartment by tying the door handle to the porch railing. When they’d realized they were stuck, one of them had shot at the doorknob to get free. I’d still been on the porch and a four-inch piece of metal had lodged itself under my collar bone. Malcolm had shown up a few minutes later and taken me to a twenty-something woman in the woods who’d called him Skeeter, a nickname tied to his hometown. She’d had honest-to-God suture kits, and enough medical knowledge to stitch me up.
Which, of course, had raised a ton of questions, only a few of which had been answered, and poorly at that.
That was the thing about James Malcolm. He wasn’t fast and loose with information. Then again, when you used to be the crime boss over a whole county, even a small one like Fenton County, Arkansas, I supposed you had to be.
I released a dry chuckle. “Are you here to drive me to your friend in the woods? I thought she said she was done doing you favors.”
The corner of his lift lip hitched slightly. “I planned to do it myself.”
My brow shot up. I wasn’t surprised he knew how to remove stitches. I was sure a big, tough guy like him had acquired more than his fair share of them, and he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d condescend to visit a doctor unless he was bleeding to death. So, it stood to reason he knew how to remove sutures. The real question was why he was here wanting to remove mine.
“Are you gonna let me in?” he asked dryly. “Or do you want me to do it out here?” He nodded to my shoulder. “Seems like you’re gonna have to take that off for me to get to them.”
My black dress was short sleeved with a rounded neck. It came to an inch or so above my knees and had a zipper down the back.
I considered telling him I could remove them on my own, but I’d have to do it with my left hand, and I wasn’t particularly ambidextrous. Add in my sporadically shaky hands and the task seemed impossible—and painful.
I took a step back to let him in, glancing at the back of the house to see if my mother was watching a man walk into my apartment, which was strictly against her rules. Then I remembered I could do whatever the hell I wanted. She wouldn’t ever spy on me again.
I expected a wave of grief to hit me, but all I felt was numb.
He brushed past me, and I shut the door, turning to face him. “I’ll need to change.”
He gave a sharp nod, and I walked over to the dresser and pulled out a tank top and a pair of yoga pants, then headed to my small bathroom. Only as I was about to shut the door, I realized I couldn’t reach the zipper. Louise has helped me zip up before the funeral.
Great.
I turned around and gave him a sardonic look. “I need help with my zipper.”
I expected him to throw out a barb about not being interested in undressing me, but he simply motioned for me to turn around as he took a couple of steps toward me.
I stepped out of the bathroom and turned around, raising my left hand to move my hair out the way. It had grown longer since I’d moved to Jackson Creek, but it was only an inch or two past my shoulders. Long enough to get in the way.
I still expected him to say something, but he didn’t. The only sound was the zip of the metal. When he reached the small of my back, his knuckle brushed my skin, sending a shiver up my spine.
My breath caught in my throat, but I regained my senses and hurried into the bathroom and shut the door.
