Page 11 of Five
“Parents?” I ask, holding my breath and ignoring the fine tremor in my fingers which have tightened around the pen.
“Intel says he’s from a single parent family,” Jack responds.
“Father.” I say it before he gets the chance and there’s a pause on the end of the line before he confirms.
“Correct.”
“What else do we know?” I balance the handset between my ear and my shoulder as I start grabbing the stuff I need while my boss fills me in.
“Oscar Hunt is the detective in charge of the case.”
Of course, he is.
Because he’s another one of those people whose life exists on the periphery of this case, investigating the Lost Boys.
Lost Boys like Nicholas Murray and Oliver Hunt.
Lost Boys like me. No matter what anybody thinks.
NEVE
Frommyseatonmy friend Jude’s porch, I nurse a sweating bottle of beer and watch, as across the yard, Jude is positively adored by her three boyfriends.
Yes, three.
I would think her a greedy bitch, but I know her too well for that. My partner in crime at the restaurant/bar where we both waited tables, Jude is one of the sweetest human beings I know, and probably the least likely to indulge in any kind of ménage.
Somehow, though, they all just fell in love with one another, and are currently in the process of establishing a strong start to their happily ever after. They keep their relationship as discreet as possible, since Jude has custody of her younger sister, but all their friends know.
I’m not jealous. Not really, anyway. Jude deserves all the things.
We just graduated from Chandler U, and I’m here for the small graduation party Jude and her guys decided to throw for their families and closest friends. People move about freely, plopping down wherever in the freshly remodeled farmhouse, laughing and chatting with one another. Jude is on the picturesque wooden swing that hangs from an old oak in her front yard, one of her guys pushing her gently back and forth while the other two stand and talk to each other and her. One holds her drink so she can keep both hands on the swing’s ropes; the other stands in front of her and plays with her feet each time she comes close.
As I watch, fascinated, the one pushing her grabs the swing, pulling her movement to a stop, and leans in to kiss her sweetly.
The second one pulls a shoe off her foot, darting away when she jumps from the swing and gives chase, and the guy who was holding her drink leaps into the game, alcohol sloshing over the bottle as he runs.
The swing-pusher takes her seat on the swing and watches with a little smirk playing over his lips as the others play tag.
I want that.
The stray thought startles me, but it rings of truth, nonetheless.
I’ve only just recently gotten out of a crappy relationship with a guy who was literally too uptight to have sex without turning the lights off. I want spontaneity, and a lack of inhibition. I want to be the center of someone’s world, the way Jude is with these men.
And I wouldn’t say no to being the center of the lives of multiple someones.
“Hiya.” Jude’s younger sister plops herself down beside me on the top porch step. “You’re Neve; I’m Eleanor. Nice to meet you.”
The girl is enviably pretty, with dark hair to her sister’s blonde and mischievous green eyes.
“Hiya, back,” I reply. “I am indeed Neve …and Jude is your sister, right?”
“Yep.” The girl’s eyes follow her sister and her men, something stirring in her gaze.
“They look happy,” I comment gently, not knowing how Eleanor feels about her sister’s love life.
“They are.” Eleanor shakes her head a little. “It’s so weird, honestly. Not at all what I was expecting. Sometimes it’s just one of the guys here with her, and she misses the others terribly. Sometimes it’s all of them. Whichever it is, it’s so obvious they all really care about each other, and respect one another.”
