Page 30 of Crawl
I don’t pay attention to the news. I never have time for it, unless my boss—whoever I’m assigned to at the time—specifically asks for a recap. But it makes me cringe. This is bigger than Key West? Nausea twists in my stomach. I steady myself, resting against the exterior of the house.
“Not really,” I say. “How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”
Peter glances toward the street like he knows the killer is right there, under his nose. “It’s a man,” he says. “I can feel it.”
I roll my eyes. As if I need another reason not to trust any of the men in this town. Peter lifts his shoulder and taps the house.
“Well, be safe about it, you know?” he says. “That’s all you can do. By the way, how’s your mama doing? I saw her on Duval a couple of days ago. New man?”
The double date! I completely forgot about it. For a second, I consider bringing Peter as a friend. Mom would be over the moon, and maybe if we have enough time together, I can convince him toreallystart looking into my stepdad. But if I tell Peter what I need—that I truly enjoy the darker, depraved side of sex—he’ll try to fix me, like my ex.
Peter isn’t an option, no matter how much Mom tries to plant the seed.
“I haven’t met the new man yet,” I say.
“Tell her I said ‘hi,’” he says. He squeezes my shoulder, then keeps his hand there to comfort me. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
I sink under his weight, and he’s pushing me deeper into quicksand. My fingertips graze my cheek. Peter is a friend from high school. His job is to protect Key West. But when he touches my shoulder again, I bite the inside of my lip. He smiles at me, and I see my stepdad in him, hiding behind a trustworthy smile.
Is Peter a protector, or is he the Key West Killer?
I close my eyes, then open them slowly, regaining my composure. Forcing myself to act like everything is fine.
“Just a little tired,” I say.
He slurps the rest of his tea, then pats my shoulder. “I’ll let you rest, then. Thanks for letting me stop by. See you around.”
I wave as he drives away. All I want is to call Cash. It’s my day off; I’m not supposed to think about him. But that urge grows inside of me, and I see his face: those dark, spotted eyes, hunting me.
Even though he practically tried to choke me to death the night before, I want to see him.
As I dial him, I tell myself that the only way to sabotage, or even kill him, is to make him trust me, and to do that, I need to be clever. And that includes having sex with him. It may be an excuse, but it’s a good one. I leave a voicemail with another repair request.
Ten minutes later, Cash calls me from the porch. As soon as I open the front door, his expression shifts like he can see something inside of me that I don’t see myself. His shoulders tighten, his mouth sours, and those ominous eyes capture me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I automatically say. I motion inside. Why is he still standing out there anyway?
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands.
I tilt my head. “Aren’t you worried about being out in the open like that?”
“What’s wrong, Remedy?” he asks, his voice stern. He glares at me like it doesn’t matter if he’s out in public. But I pull his arm, yanking him inside. An overwhelming chemical odor permeates the air, and his clothes are lightly dusted like he’s been working on a construction project. I don’t remember anything like that on his schedule. I guide him over to the round table in the kitchen, and we sit down a few feet away from where he fucked me on the floor. My belly tingles at the memory. And I realize something.
He’s been out of the estate a few times, so standing on the porch probably won’t bother him. And yet, I still made him come inside with me.
His cloudy eyes simmer with demands. He hasn’t let go of his concern over me.
“Something’s wrong,” he says.
“Nothing’s wrong!” I laugh. “You’re worse than my mom.”
“I’m not playing, Remedy,” he growls. “Tell me what’s wrong, or I will fuck the words out of your right now.”
I crunch my teeth down until the pain surges in my skull. How does he read me like this? I almost want to give in to that threat, but I also want to tell him the truth. It has everything to do with Peter touching my shoulder, how he reminds me of my stepdad. I can’t bring myself to tell Cash about my stepdad yet, but I can tell him about Peter.
“My friend came by,” I say.
