A Pairing to Die For Read online

  Reid doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

  It’s weird how a silence can communicate more than words.

  There’s the anticipatory silence before a kiss, which talking would only delay. There’s the judgy silence, perfected by Camilla and the rest of the Wallace clan. And then there’s this silence, the silence of foreboding, that speaks of something worse yet to come.

  Another clang in the background makes me start. That’s when I remember where Reid said he’s calling from.

  My palms grow sweaty and my phone slips. I grip it tighter. “Why are you in jail?”

  I brace myself for his answer, but nothing could prepare me for what he finally says.

  “They think I did it.” His tone is desperate, the raw fear slicing at my heart. “They think I killed my friend.”

  * * *

  * * *

  When in doubt, call your best friend.

  This is true if you need a sympathetic ear after a hard day, you’re considering getting bangs, you want to rehash the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy, or, apparently, your boyfriend is wrongfully accused of murder.

  Especially if that best friend is a law clerk for the most esteemed judge in Boulder County and also happens to be pursuing a career in criminal law.

  Sage is as kind as she is brilliant, further proven by her willingness to rush to my aid early on a Thursday morning, which will inevitably make her late for work.

  I’m waiting for her on the bottom step of the stairwell that leads to my apartment when she turns into the parking lot. She drives a lime-green Mini Cooper, which somehow perfectly fits her personality. It’s tiny, bright, and can handle inclement weather surprisingly well.

  I leap to my feet so quickly that I lurch forward, tripping over a crack in the cement. I reach out blindly and cling to the railing, barely saving myself from what was sure to be an embarrassing tumble. I glance around nervously, my knuckles white on the banister.

  “Don’t worry, no one saw that,” Sage says, hopping out of her car.

  She shoves her sunglasses on top of her head, her strawberry-blond hair pulled into a high ponytail. Triforce earrings dangle from her ears, glinting in the sunlight. Her love for everything nerd-canon extends to her wardrobe, which features a mixture of power suits and cosplay. Even dressed professionally, as she is now, she coyly manages to pay homage to her favorite make-believe worlds, like with the Captain Marvel T-shirt peeking out from under her neatly buttoned cardigan.

  “Except for you,” I point out, raising one eyebrow. I force myself to let go of the railing, steady for the moment.

  “Yeah, but I hardly count. I’ve seen far worse from you, missy.”

  This is undeniably true. Having been my roommate in college, Sage has seen me at my best (opening day of my winery), my worst (also, ironically, opening day of my winery, post–dead body), and everything in between (let’s not mention my hipster phase).

  “And I from you.” I hold a hand over my heart and give her what is probably my first genuine smile of the day, although it’s not long before it transitions back into a tense frown. “My head’s in a weird place.”

  Concern is etched in Sage’s face. “Here, this will help. It’s your usual.” She passes me a to-go mug sporting the logo of my favorite coffee place, the Laughing Rooster. “Skinny latte.”

  Tears spring to my eyes at the gesture. I wipe the tears away, but not before one slides down my cheek and plops onto the cup’s lid.

  “Oh, Parker,” Sage says, wrapping her arms around me. “Try not to panic. We’ll figure this out.”

  I have my doubts about that, but allow myself to be comforted. I sniff. “It’s just such a mess. And poor Oscar.”

  She gives me one last squeeze before letting go. “Take a sip.”

  I’m buzzed enough without any caffeine, but I know better than to argue with Sage. The latte is hot and bitter and oddly comforting. I take another, larger gulp.

  “Good.” Sage nods encouragingly, slurping from her own drink, some sort of fluorescent-blue frozen concoction. “Now, tell me everything.”

  So I do.

  Standing in the shade of my apartment complex, I tell her about the disastrous dinner with Reid’s family, from the disgusting food to the impermeable Boys’ Club to Camilla’s scathing words.

  “Oh no, she didn’t,” Sage says with a huff, indignant on my behalf.

  “She did. They all did,” I say. Sure, Tristan and Ben may not have piled on the criticism, but they also didn’t stand up for me. And sometimes, doing nothing is just as bad as actively participating.

  I fiddle with the strings of my hoodie. In my haste to get ready, I grabbed the first clothes I could lay my hands on—beat-up jeans with holes in the knees and a worn CU Buffs sweatshirt.

  “What did Reid say?” Sage asks.

  “He came to my defense. Turned it back on them and why they were really in town.” I shrug and focus on the cup in my hand, the warmth permeating the paper sleeve. “But she’s his mother.”

  “So what?”

  Sage has some experience with, as she calls it, mama drama, her mom only contacting her when she needs money, legal advice, or to make someone feel smaller than her.

  “So, some people aren’t as awesome as you at ignoring unwelcome motherly opinions.”

  “If they’re with you, they should be.”

  I decide not to pick at that thread and continue with how I escaped (nay, fled) early, and how Reid met up with me later at Vino Valentine. I finish with Reid’s phone call this morning, realizing just how little I actually know about his current predicament.

  Here’s what I do know: Officers showed up at the duplex Reid rents off Pearl Street at four o’clock this morning with a search warrant. They brought him in for questioning about the suspicious death of Oscar Flores, which, before too long, turned into an arrest.

  Sage listens silently, her skin growing pale beneath her freckles.

  Around us, birds chirp and flit between blue spruce trees, a neighbor greets me on their way to the bus stop, and cars impatiently inch closer to one another on the busy street in front of my apartment, rush hour being in full swing. The normalcy strikes me as cruel and makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

  I’m tempted to march to the street corner and shout about the injustices in the world. About lives that end too soon and families left behind heartbroken. About the evil that lurks in all of us and, even more frightening, those who can’t control it.

  Instead, I take another sip of my latte. Having a massive freak-out won’t help anyone.

  “Is there any chance Reid could’ve . . . ?” Sage spares me the rest of the sentence.

  I shake my head adamantly. “Absolutely not.” I turn to her, imploring her to believe me. “He’s a good guy, you know? He would never hurt anyone. Especially not his friend.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sage dips her chin. “But I had to check.”

  “That’s fair,” I say with a sigh. “I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” And evaporated immediately. Absently, I touch my lips.

  “Okay then.” Sage gets to her feet and makes for her car, glancing over her shoulder at me. “You coming?”

  I jog to catch up and scramble into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”

  There’s a fervor in her eyes usually reserved for new Star Wars franchise announcements.

  “To get Reid, duh.” She shifts into drive and turns onto Broadway. “Let’s go make hell.”

  Chapter

  Four

  The Boulder County Jail is located at the top of a hill that overlooks a public park in East Boulder on the way to the municipal airport. I wonder if the families walking dogs, having picnics, and making use of the biking grounds know they’re a few yards away from a compound housing close to five hundred inmates.


  The building is intimidating, all concrete and metal. Red accents pop from the otherwise tan exterior on doors, trim, and gates. The landscaping is minimal, primarily composed of gravel, a crowded dirt parking lot, and flagpoles.

  I hesitate at the entrance to the facility, my heart pounding so hard I fear it might actually take flight. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I’ve been so desperate to do something to help Reid, but now that we’re here, I’m riddled with anxiety.

  Sage, however, doesn’t appear to share my discomfort. She marches through the outer metal door as if she does this on a daily basis. Which, given her career aspirations, is probably a good thing. She’s all fire and confidence, from the way she tilts her chin a fraction upward to her thrown-back shoulders. Maybe it’s the Captain Marvel T-shirt.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I follow her inside. Nerves accost me, making my actions extra twitchy, and I accidentally step on the back of Sage’s shoe.

  “Easy there, tiger,” she says, pulling at the heel of her Mary Jane flat. “It’ll be okay.”

  I nod, giving her an inch, and we continue through the inner door and into a cramped lobby.

  The small space is charged with a weird resigned energy. There are only two rows of plastic chairs, all of which are occupied by people who look as dazed and upset as me. Complimentary lockers for personal belongings line the back wall, and on either side are posters advertising things like the importance of care packages for inmates and instructions for loading minutes onto a calling card.

  In the far corner, a receptionist is perched behind a protective caged barricade. I make my way to her, noting her uniform and the badge gleaming on her chest.

  Sage gives me the go-ahead at the counter.

  Peeling my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I start, “I—uh—want to see an inmate.” The last word prickles in my mouth like overly tannic wine.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asks matter-of-factly.

  “No.”

  “You need to schedule a visitation twenty-four hours in advance.” She folds her hands over a clipboard.

  The reality of the situation hits me afresh and I almost sink to the concrete floor. My boyfriend has been arrested for a crime he didn’t commit, and now I can’t see him—comfort him—for a bare minimum of twenty-four hours. It’s enough to make my eyes sting from repressed tears. Sage rubs my back.

  My friend’s presence fuels me with courage to try again. “But there must be some mistake. They think—”

  The lady officer shakes her head, cutting me off. Not unfriendly, just informative. “You’ll have to take that up with the detective handling his or her case.” She keeps talking, but my mind snagged on something she said.

  Rude as it is midconvo, I fumble for my phone and, finding the contact I’m looking for, press call.

  Just as the line starts ringing, the very individual I’m dialing strides through a metal detector down the hallway to my right. My phone is still pressed to my ear, even as the ringing echoes through the nondescript corridor.

  Sweet blissful hope surges through me at the sight of Eli Fuller—or, I should say, Detective Fuller. Because, at the moment, he’s my best shot at seeing Reid.

  Eli digs his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. He rubs his clean-shaven face before silencing it.

  That’s right. He had the audacity to ignore my call.

  My arm goes slack and my jaw drops in shock.

  Eli and I attended high school together, where he was renowned for his antics as the Boulder Cineplex stoner. In the ten years since graduation, he’s done an about-face, becoming a clean-cut, rule-abiding detective. Gone are the Birkenstocks, tie-dye, unkempt hair, and bloodshot eyes. In their place are polished leather shoes, a smart navy suit, hair gelled into a suave wave, and analytical brown eyes.

  Eli helped me out of a pickle earlier this year when a crazed killer used my winery as the venue for their murdering spree. Since then, I’ve called him a few times to go climbing, a hobby we share, but he’s always declined. Sure, he might have been genuinely busy. Or he might have been avoiding me, like he is now.

  I thought we’d be able to move past the awkwardness of my rejecting his romantic advances, but I guess not . . . which hopefully won’t dissuade him from assisting my current beau.

  “Here goes nothing,” I mutter under my breath, stashing my phone in my purse.

  “I’ve got your back,” Sage says. She rocks onto the balls of her feet. “And remember, I speak legalese.”

  With his head bowed, consulting something in his notepad, Eli doesn’t notice Sage or me until he’s practically on top of us.

  I clear my throat and he looks up, startled. We spend a moment pretending he didn’t just ignore my call and that I didn’t catch him in the act. Suffice it to say, there’s a reason neither of us is in theater.

  I rest my hand on my hip. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Emotions play out on his face as his eyes grow from pained to guarded. “Parker. It’s good to see you.” His tone betrays the insincerity of his words.

  My lips twitch. I’m keenly aware of Sage, at the ready to jump to my defense. But you know what they say about flies and honey. So, I chuckle like someone’s told a joke and try for an innocuous tone. “I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. Reid was brought in early this morning.”

  Eli flips his notepad closed and tucks it in his jacket pocket, giving us a glimpse of his gun, strapped to his chest by a shoulder harness. “There’s been no misunderstanding.”

  “O-kay,” I say, drawing out each syllable of the word. I tap my sneaker-clad foot and wait for him to continue.

  I sense the receptionist observing us curiously, no doubt seconds away from calling security. Little does she know, I have an in with the Boulder PD. At least, I hope I do.

  Eli exhales. “I’m working the Flores case. We have probable cause that Mr. Wallace is the perpetrator.”

  And jackpot. I suspected as much given Eli’s lack of surprise at seeing me. Here. At the jail. I mean, I know I got entangled in an investigation earlier this year, but that’s long over.

  “What evidence do you have?” Sage interjects.

  Pity flashes across Eli’s face, but his voice is stern when he responds, “That’s none of your concern.”

  I feel like I’m a thin-skinned grape being crushed under the harsh foot of the justice system. My breathing hitches and I sway. It takes all my effort to keep myself upright.

  “Actually,” Sage interjects, her voice steely, “as Reid’s legal defense, it is my concern.”

  Eli raises his eyebrows, skeptical. “I’ll have to check with Mr. Wallace. If he agrees to see you, I can grant you fifteen minutes.”

  I nod mutely, a numbness seeping through my body.

  “Only Sage. Sorry, Parker.” He gives me another pitying glance, a hint of warmth entering his caramel eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  He retraces his steps, going back through the metal detector and down the hallway, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. He disappears through a mystery door, which clangs shut.

  I let out an exhale and look at Sage. “Thanks for that.”

  “This doesn’t look good.” She ushers me into a recently vacated seat in the lobby and kneels in her pencil skirt so we’re at eye level. “Is there anything you want me to tell Reid? Any message I can pass along?”

  I think of the night before. Of Reid stomping grapes with me, our knees bumping into each other. His lips on mine as he gracefully dipped me backward in a sweeping embrace. His cocksure grin and the truffles he brought me, my favorite brand of chocolate.

  I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep a sob from escaping.

  What do you say to someone in this situation? What words could possibly ease the pain of losing a friend and the humiliation of being blamed
for it?

  “Ask him if there’s anything I can do. And—” I hesitate, licking my lips. “And tell him I love him.”

  “You got it.”

  Sage doesn’t know the weight of those three words. Doesn’t know it’s the first time I’m saying them to Reid. Indirectly, yes, but it still counts. Truth be told, I’ve felt the capital L for Reid for a while now, but my last relationship left me with some undeniable trust issues.

  My last boyfriend, Guy, and I were like impersonator champagne. The bubbles and floral aroma might pass for the real thing, but they don’t come together quite right. Unfortunately, it took us years and an ultimatum to figure that out.

  After Guy had accepted a political consultant job in D.C., we spent six tense months trying the long-distance thing before he pressured me to play the dutiful girlfriend, abandon my winery plans, and move across the country. I chose myself—my dream—and, while it was ultimately me who broke it off, we both got burned.

  Here I thought he’d loved me for my determination, my goals, my brain. Turns out, he loved his vision of me more than the real me.

  So, yeah, trust issues.

  But it’s important Reid knows that I’m here for him, that I believe him, that our relationship is more than the elation of the shiny honeymoon phase. Even if it means waiting to learn how he reacts—if he has a response—through my friend.

  I hide my face in my hands.

  Eli returns and gestures for Sage to follow him.

  I watch Sage and Eli walk away, feeling utterly helpless.

  * * *

  * * *

  When left unharvested, grapes will shrivel on the vine. The sugars will become too concentrated to use in wine, or in much of anything. But that’s not the worst of it. The vine will take this unharvested fruit to mean it doesn’t need to produce as many grapes the following year. Which will lead to a steady decline.

  I wonder if love is the same way, and what it could mean for me and Reid. I wring my hands in my lap as I wait for Sage. My seat faces a window with a view of the parking lot. A gust of wind kicks up dirt, sending it swirling into the air. A lone tumbleweed rolls past and snags on a fence post.