A Pairing to Die For Read online

  Bile coats my throat as I all but gnash my teeth in frustration. “But he didn’t. You don’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you know, young lady,” she says.

  I freeze, an iciness spreading through my limbs. “Wait, what does that mean?”

  “I must be going.”

  Before I can utter a protest, the line goes dead. Camilla hung up on me. And just when things were getting interesting.

  I stare at my phone, my mind reeling through possibilities. My head hurts from all the different jigsaw pieces, none of which seem to fit together.

  “Sounds like that went well,” a voice says behind me.

  I spin around to find Britt watching me. In the sunlight, her spiky platinum hair is so bright I have to shield my eyes. Her skin is tanned and tough like leather, and she’s wearing cargo pants with more pockets than I have utensils.

  “Yeah, about as good as Reid’s hearing went,” I say sarcastically.

  “The judge was tough,” she says, giving me a wry smile. “From her perspective, she’s protecting citizens by keeping a potential murderer off the street.”

  If possible, my spirits plummet even further. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No,” she says. “But you don’t strike me as someone who’d prefer niceties instead of perspective.”

  I can only blink at that.

  Her face impossible to read, she takes a step toward me. She’s so close I can almost make out the cursive of the tattoo winding up her neck, the lower letters hidden by her black tank top.

  “Guess this means Spoons will be closed this weekend,” she says.

  I exaggerate a wince. “That’s gonna hurt the bottom line.”

  “And then some. I’ll alert the forces.”

  “Thanks, Britt,” I say. “You were able to get ahold of everyone yesterday?”

  “All except for Katy. I left voice mails but never heard back.”

  A jolt of anxiety slithers up my spine. Nick mentioned Katy was sick yesterday. I wonder if she’s really at home fighting off a bout of the flu, or if she has some other reason for lying low. Either way, it’s time I paid Katy a visit. “I’ll let her know. Hey, why did you come?”

  She shifts uncomfortably and, for a second, I’m not sure if she’ll respond. “Solidarity. Because I know what Reid’s up against.”

  “Oh.”

  Britt shrugs, entirely unconcerned.

  The awkwardness of the moment stretches on and I can sense her desperation to escape. But I have one more question first: “What does your tattoo say?”

  “‘Time is undefeated.’”

  “Who said that? Gandhi?”

  “Rocky Balboa,” she says, sliding aviator shades in place. “Tell Reid I said to hang in there.”

  I chuckle and then rub my neck, thinking about the pain threshold required to have a tattoo etched into that sensitive patch of skin.

  * * *

  * * *

  Sage helps me check in for my visitation with Reid.

  I honestly don’t know what I would do without her. Not see my boyfriend, for one. Wallow in a massive vat of self-pity, for another, and probably consume far too many pints of Ben & Jerry’s.

  Instead, Sage stands next to me in the dinky jail lobby, all of the seats currently occupied, while I wait for the receptionist to call my name.

  Liam is outside snapping pictures with his Canon Rebel T7i—something about forced captivity juxtaposed with Colorado open space—although I have a hunch he’s lingering for moral support. I appreciate the gesture.

  I can’t stop fidgeting, adjusting the frills of my blouse and straightening the chain of my beaded necklace. When an officer finally calls my name, I practically leap out of my suede ankle boots.

  “Be right back,” I say to Sage, my voice sounding weird and distant.

  “Remember,” she mock-chides. “Only virtual lip-locks allowed.”

  “I’ll try to contain myself.”

  More names are called and five other visitors line up to step through the metal detector.

  Our designated officer/guide has the open and fresh face of an idealist. A few years my junior, his uniform is still shiny and new.

  He lists rules as we follow him through institutional hallways that smell like bleach. I try to keep track of the many things we’re not allowed to do, but by the time he pauses outside a red metal door, I’ve already forgotten the first thing he said.

  The visitation room is sparse. The walls are bare and the only furnishings are cold metal tables and matching chairs. I realize, with a jolt, this is probably to keep inmates from trying anything that might harm visitors, or themselves.

  Before I’ve fully oriented myself, Reid enters the room, escorted by an officer. He’s still in handcuffs, an orange jumpsuit, and slippers. Because even shoelaces could conceivably be a weapon in a cellblock.

  Reid and I settle into chairs across from each other, while other visitors and inmates do the same. I’m tempted to reach across the table and take his hand, but touch of any kind is strictly forbidden.

  So, instead, I settle for a lighthearted greeting. “William says hello.”

  Relief washes over Reid’s face and he cracks a smile. “Is he at your place? Is Zin okay with it?”

  “Zin has been very accommodating, although I suspect she was waiting until I left to pilfer his food.”

  “Don’t worry, he can handle himself around the ladies,” he says, chuckling, referencing yet another thing William has in common with his human counterpart. “How’s the harvest?”

  “Good.” I raise one eyebrow at him. “You know this doesn’t count as an excuse to skip out on punch downs.”

  “Damn.” He snaps his fingers. “Why else would I be in here?” Then he breaks out the dimples. The blessed dimples, visible even through his beard. “Any more shipments come in yet?”

  “Thankfully, no. The last thing I need right now is for a truckload of grapes to show up unannounced.” I lick my lips, my carefree facade slipping. “I can’t believe this is all happening.”

  He rubs his face with both hands, the handcuffs clinking. Shock and sadness are etched in his features, in his downcast eyes and creased forehead.

  He lets out a shuddering exhale as he says, “Tell me about it.”

  I lean forward. “Are you okay in here?”

  “The food leaves something to be desired.” An ironic grin spreads across his face. “If I’m on my best behavior, eventually I may be able to help out in the kitchen.”

  My heart plummets to somewhere around my navel. “You’re not going to be in here forever. We’ll get you out.” My voice wavers, peeling away at my fake bravado.

  He just shakes his head.

  “Seriously, things just don’t line up. I was talking to your family and—”

  Reid interrupts me, his voice eerily quiet. “You talked to my family?”

  “Well, yeah, you asked me to call your mom,” I say. “And I tried to get them to post bail.”

  He drops his head into his hands, his fingers mussing his hair even more. His jaw is set when he lifts his chin. “I don’t need or want their help.”

  “But—”

  “Parker, stop,” he says. “I mean it. I don’t want anything from them.”

  “Fine, then tell me where you went between leaving the restaurant and coming to Vino Valentine.” I feel feverish with excitement, like the flush after a few sips of celebratory champagne. “If we just confirm where you were the rest of the night, maybe this will all go away.”

  He shakes his head, sadness dampening the movement. “The detective, Sage, they already know my alibi. It doesn’t account for enough time, doesn’t even matter.”

  It matters to me! I want to shout. Steam practically spouts from my ears.

  I keep my tone even as I say, “I’d like to hear it.”

  “Why? So you can go on some wild sleuthing goose chase?” He shifts in his seat and readjusts his hands, the metal of the handcuffs biting into his raw wrists. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger. Not for me.”

  The softness in his voice takes me aback. I’m hyperaware of our precious seconds together, ticking by as I struggle to find words.

  “I have to do this for you,” I finally choke out.

  We stare at each other, his eyes flashing like lightning in a storm, and mine full of stubbornness and pride.

  His gaze falls to the tabletop, his mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic frown. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that.”

  “What else would I do?”

  “Leave it to the law enforcement agents and focus on the harvest, your business—”

  “Which wouldn’t be where it is without you,” I snap, earning a warning look from an officer. I wave an apology and continue in a whisper, “What about Spoons, your dream?”

  “Maybe not all dreams are meant to come true,” Reid says with a shrug.

  “I refuse to believe that.”

  We settle back in our chairs and I imagine what the officers guarding the visitation room must see—just another couple, a boyfriend behind bars and his devoted girlfriend staring doe-eyed at him. When in reality, we’re patsies caught in the cross fire of a killer’s agenda.

  And it stings. It really stings.

  Reid maneuvers his hands to the center of the table. I do the same. They’re mere centimeters from each other; one movement and we would be touching. The noncontact, the sheer closeness, sends electricity from my fingertips all the way to the tips of my toes.

  Our surroundings melt away—the cold metal of the chairs, the hushed whispers of conversations of other visits, the officers monitoring our every move. For a moment, it’s as if we’re enclosed in our own private bubble.

  Reid watches our hands, mesmerized. “At least promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise,” I say, keenly aware of our nontouching and sorely tempted to twitch my finger. “So, tell me more about that night.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I saw my family off, worked in the kitchen until we were caught back up, and then packed up and left.”

  “What did you pack up? Where did you go?”

  And with my entirely reasonable questions, the bubble pops.

  Reid moves his hands to his lap and I can practically see the cogs churning in his brain, trying to discern which scrap of information to give me.

  Maybe he’s still upset that I went to his parents for money without his permission, or maybe this is another play to keep me safe, because in the end, he doles out as little as possible: “I didn’t do this, Parker.”

  “I know.” I nod at the gauze on his forearm. “How’s your cut?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Just like your alibi is nothing?” My patience unravels at the seams, my composure falling away like forgotten grapes from a vine. “Like your response to when I told you I loved you.”

  And do you know what Reid says to that? Nothing.

  Because the same severe guard who escorted Reid in approaches our table. A weight settles over my chest even before he opens his mouth to speak the dreaded words that are coming too soon, too fast: “Time’s up.”

  I can barely stand the look on Reid’s face—torn, pained, like there are a million things he wishes he could say. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, millennials would never have to engage in phone conversations, and Oscar would still be alive.

  Reid is forced to his feet and tugged away from me. The silence between us grows into an abyss as the door slams shut behind him.

  One thing becomes abundantly clear: I’m in way over my head, romantically and otherwise.

  Chapter

  Ten

  I’ve always loved the way Reid eats. That might sound strange, but it’s true.

  When Reid eats, he loses himself in flavors and textures, commenting on various ingredients and cooking styles, lamenting the artistry of unique combinations and techniques. With him, food is more than nourishment, it’s an experience.

  I reflect on this as I sit in a booth across from Liam and Sage. We’re at the Twenty Ninth Street mall at a trendy diner called Snooze, complete with retro vinyl, wingback chairs, and pendant lamps. The menu features classic brunch staples—pancakes, eggs, hash browns—along with a few modern dishes that are all the rage, like the avocado toast in front of me.

  Emotions swirl through me like snowflakes in a blizzard. The events of the morning crowd my mind, vying for attention, each one a stab at my carefully constructed veneer.

  The judge’s allegation, First-degree murder of Oscar Hernandez Flores.

  Camilla’s callous assertion, He got himself into this mess, he can get himself out of it.

  And Reid’s defeated remark, Maybe not all dreams are meant to come true.

  I’ve barely said a word since returning from my visit with Reid, which is probably why Sage and Liam dragged me here. They took one look at my face and ushered me from the jail and all that it contains.

  “Okay, spill,” Sage says, setting her silverware down with a clink. Her giant stack of blueberry pancakes is already half-demolished.

  “It’s nothing,” I say.

  To avoid having to talk, I take a bite of avocado toast, topped with a soft-boiled egg, dill, and a splash of fresh-squeezed lemon juice. I might as well be chewing sawdust, to no fault of the food. I chase it with a sip of coffee, cradling the mug.

  Sage and Liam exchange a pointed glance. Maybe the two of them together isn’t such a good idea. Think of all the trouble they could cause me if they teamed up.

  “I just . . . can’t.”

  Liam lets out an aggravated sigh. “Am I gonna have to kick Reid’s ass when he gets out of there?”

  “No,” I say quickly, knowing Liam would 100 percent follow through if he thought I was being mistreated. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Then you’ve got to give us something,” Sage says. “What happened in there?”

  “Reid’s keeping me at a distance because he’s trying to protect me.”

  I rub my temples, replaying our conversation. All of the things he said and, more important, didn’t say.

  That’s when I remember something. “Sage, where did Reid go before coming to Vino Valentine that night? What’s the rest of his alibi?”

  Sage opens and closes her mouth, bunching her napkin in her fingers. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Very funny.” I fake-laugh but then blanch at the resolve in her eyes. “You’re serious?”

  “Client confidentiality,” Sage says with a tiny shrug.

  She leaves the table before she accidentally lets anything slip, Liam not so subtly studying her retreating figure.

  I don’t know what to make of Sage’s silence except that, client privilege or not, she wouldn’t hang me out to dry. I have to believe that whatever Reid was up to, it has nothing to do with me or our relationship. But then, why does he have the name and number of some random chick in his apartment? A chick who has a bubbly voice and annoyingly flirtatious laugh.

  “Do you know a Susie?” I ask Liam.

  He shifts his focus to me. “Several, in fact.”

  “Are any of them close with Reid?”

  A shadow passes over his features and he narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “No reason.” I take another bite of toast, my appetite still nonexistent. “So, how are things with Sage?”

  “Eh,” Liam says, snapping a pic of his half-consumed breakfast burrito.

  He’s of the belief that perfectly curated foodie photos are on their way out of style and reality is on the rise. I’m apprehensive, to say the least.

  He continues, slouching deeper in the booth, “I’m afraid I’m stuck in the friend zone.”

  “But you two seem to really be connecting.”

  “Sure, we text and hang out more, just not over candlelit dinners.” He takes another shot, this time including my plate in the frame as well.

  I cock my head to the side and take a sip of coffee. “Well, have you asked her to a candlelit dinner?”

  He lazily scratches the top of his head, his dark hair sticking out in all directions. “Not exactly.”

  “I’ll take that as a hard no.” I click my tongue. “You should ask her. Before it’s too late.”

  “Before what’s too late?” Sage asks. She slides back into our booth and spears a bite of pancakes with her fork.

  “Nothing,” Liam and I say in unison.

  “Okay, moving on.” She points her fork at me. “I have news.”

  I practically bounce in my seat, fully expecting news related to the investigation. Instead, Sage surprises me. “I have a date tonight.”

  Liam chokes on his orange juice, coughing into his napkin.

  “Really?” I ask, overenunciating the word.

  Sage ended things with her longtime boyfriend, short-time fiancé earlier this summer. It was a big deal and left her uncertain about what she wants in life and love. To my knowledge, she hasn’t been out with anyone since, apart from my brother, which was apparently just as friends.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” I ask, since Liam is still sputtering.

  “His name’s Arthur. He works for a local firm we have a lot of dealings with. The Manual introduced us.”

  “A lawyer?” Liam asks, his voice raspy.

  “Yes.” She crinkles her nose. “It’ll be fine, right?”

  She looks from me to Liam, her freckles practically jittering in agitation. Her panic is enough to compel Liam and me to set aside our own concerns.

  “Definitely,” Liam says, flashing her a supportive smile. My heart breaks at how hard that one word must have been for him to utter.

  “Absolutely.” I raise my mug to hers in a mock toast. “I’ll come over later and help you get ready.”