Page 29 of Crawl
“How are you, Remmie?” he asks. He cocks a brow. “Jesus. What happened to your eye?”
I touch my face. I forgot about the popped blood vessel. “I sneezed?”
He whistles. “Must have been one hell of a sneeze.”
I laugh, my cheeks burning red. I hope he believes me. “You want some sweet tea?” I ask.
“Please.”
Peter stays on the front porch while I close the door behind me, fixing our drinks inside. Since we’ve known each other since high school, he knows I prefer to visit on the front porch. He just doesn’t know that it’s because I hate being alone with certain men.
And yet, I let Cash physically destroy me, and I welcomed him inside. Iinvitedhim.
I don’t understand it.
Peter mumbles his thanks, then takes a long swig. He sighs with relief, then gestures at the scarf around my neck. “Cold?”
“It’s weird. If my neck is cold, the rest of me freezes.” I shrug, trying to play it off. Cars pass on the street like usual. It’s like you can almost forget that there’s a serial killer loose during the day. “But what’s going on?”
“You heard about Dry & Clean?” he asks. I nod, looking down the street in the shop's direction; it’s only a block away. “Came to see if you’ve heard anything. Any visitors lately? Anyone at all? Maybe like a random tourist asking to use your phone?” He counts on his fingers. “Your mom? Your stepdad? Your landlord? Something like that?”
I tap my lip, thinking over the last few weeks, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary pops up.
“Just Jenna,” I say. He jots a note on his phone. A sinking feeling fills my stomach; I left one important detail out.
Cash has visited twice.
But Cash lives close enough that Peter is probably questioning him too. And if I say anything right now, he’ll bother him more than necessary, and if they do that, there’s a risk that he’ll retreat further into his shell. He’s doing well, breaking out of his reclusive bubble. I can’t ruin that for him.
But I should probably say something.
“All right, your bestie. Anyone else?” Peter asks.
“My boss came by once,” I say quickly. “Dropped off some paperwork.” I cross my fingers, hoping that covers it up.
“Name?”
“Cassius Winstone.”
“You’re kidding. Winstone?” Peter laughs. “You got Winstone to come out of his tower?”
I press my lips together. “Don’t be too hard on him.”
“I’ll go easy on him,” he winks. “Anyone else?”
I shake my head. “You think the murderer is someone local?”
He angles himself closer to me like he’s ready to tell me a dirty secret, and instinctively, I scoot back. Then I steady myself; I need to be able to hear him, and I don’t want him to think that I’m uncomfortable. I pretend like I’m fixing my scarf, then lean closer to him.
“It’s someone who knows Key West,” he says. “We think it’s one person. Every so often, there’s a slip. This guy thinks he’s smarter than us, and yeah, he’s making us work, but eventually, even if it takes years, they always get caught. He isn’tthatsmart, you know?” I nod, pretending like I understand what that means, but my skin prickles, like the killer is watching us right now, choosing us as his next victims. “The mayor is considering a curfew,” Peter says, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “You’re being safe, right?”
If by being safe, he means that I’m keeping to myself and staying out of trouble, then yes. But when it comes to Cash, I haven’t been safe at all. And yet that’s what I expect from Cash. I know what I want from him, and he knows how to tear it from my soul. We work well that way.
And somehow, with Peter, I don’t actually know what to expect. His badge promises protection, but he reminds me of my stepdad. My mom swore up and down that my stepdad was a good man, great with kids, that I would love him, and she’s said similar things about Peter. A dull ache fills my stomach as I force a smile. Even as I study him now—his boyish red hair, his light blue eyes, his gentle demeanor—I can’t let it go. Those rumors from high school never left my head; who drugs a girl and becomes a cop, if he’s innocent?
“Safe as I always am,” I say, which is almost the truth. “This one is troubling you guys, huh?”
“We think the murders are connected to the crawl space murders in Montana a few years ago,” he says. “You remember that?”
