...continued. Please read entries #1-4 first.
“Iced tea, please. Thank you,” I tell the waiter.
I forgot how good-looking Randy is as he sits across from me, and we talk about everything but death, blood, gruesome murder. The fairy-tale killer still at large.
Like two friends shooting the shit, we ignore the elephant in the room. It’s unlike me to engage in so much small talk, but I have an ulterior motive: avoidance.
I don’t want to bring trouble knocking on Dante’s door because I’m jumping to conclusions that I can’t prove. Maybe that’s the reason behind my backing out of saying anything to Randy. I do have reasonable justifications for holding my tongue.
I know how Randy thinks, and I’ll only embarrass myself and Dante by essentially divulging that we are involved, that he’s been worried about me covering this case and believes I’m being stalked, and, oh, yeah, we have a kinky relationship where we sometimes play cat and mouse.
Besides, I have no proof that Dante was actually following me. He said he happened to be at Flannen’s when I was. This is why he knew I was there.
He also said he was driving in the same direction when I left. I assumed he followed me home, but he didn’t admit to that. He assumed Scott was heading there with me because he saw his car behind mine.
Also, it’s not like I haven’t been on a date with somebody else since knowing Dante. Jen coerced me into a double date just last month. I only agreed to it because the movie we were going to was a re-release of Silence of the Lambs.
But Dante didn’t say anything about that date. He had no idea until I told him. He only seemed mildly jealous. That guy didn’t wind up dead suddenly. Dante doesn’t even know where I am most of the time, and vice versa. He’s as busy with his work as I am. Sure, he started poking his nose into my business more since the FT killer started leaving drained bodies on the town doorstep. He’s concerned for my safety like everybody else. I get it. I’m not just investigating these cases behind closed doors; I’m out there putting my face in the public eye, and more likely to be targeted.
Randy picks up a potato wedge.
“So, you still runnin’ that blog of yours?”
I mirror him, nodding as I chew. “Yup.”
“I didn’t mean to bring shit up,” he laughs. “I know we’re trying not to go there.”
“Easier said than done,” I smile.
“Damn straight,” he chuckles with a wink. He runs his hand along the back of his. neck. “You know I understand.”
“Crime never sleeps," I shrug.
“True. But when I go home, it’s time to forget for a few hours.” He says it with a fatherly tone. Now, we get to the crux of it. The essential divide between us. Crime is only his day job. He’s got a switch he turns off at night. Not even when I’m sleeping is there an off switch.
I take a few sips of tea.
“I know I’m OCD, Randy. No need to rub it in. Don’t forget the useful sleuthing we’ve done via my late-night blogging. It takes an army to solve some crimes. Especially when the killer is cunning.”
He shrugs. “I get all that, Hel. But it’s healthy to have some time off. Speaking of…” He clears his throat, his face flushing. He takes a swig of water.
My brows pinch. “You okay?”
He looks away, rubbing the back of his head. When his eyes land on mine again, I know he’s about to say something awkward. This is the part where he asks me on a date, and I say--
“I didn’t want to be the one to break this to you. But I figure, better me than…”
I blink at him, confused.
“Look. Some nosey punks were talking some shit. You know, rumors spread in this town.”
“Where the hell is this going, Randy?”
“Somebody thinks they saw you in the park.”
My stomach drops, mortified. Please, no.
I wrinkle my brows, feigning confusion. “And?”
“Some high schooler getting back from fishing said he saw Helena-the-news-reporter…engaged with somebody.”
I shake my head, playing dumb; my face and neck flushing hot with embarrassment. “That's bull," I laugh.
He studies me briefly before waving his hand dismissively.
“I figured. Just thought I’d let you know what’s going around. I almost didn’t tell you... Look, if anybody gives you any shit, let me know.”
"Thanks," I nod politely, happily turning my attention out the window to the guy inspecting my car. “I...should get going," I mutter.
When Randy's hand lands over mine, our eyes lock. I raise a brow, and he pulls his hand away apologetically.
“Not trying to scare you off, Hel. I meant what I said about staying in my downstairs apartment."
"Thanks for the offer, but..." I trail off with a sigh.
"One more thing. You won’t like it."
I’m about to protest when he stands, holding out his hand.
Being that he’s blocking my way out of the booth, I reluctantly let him help me from my seat.
His big hand holds mine longer than necessary, and when I look into his green eyes, he glances fleetingly at my lips.
"I’m going to have an officer park outside your place for a few nights.”
"Oh, come on!" I protest.
"Temporarily," he promises, squeezing my hand before I pull it away. "Sorry."
He always was good at apologizing. Dante never apologizes.
We exit the café in awkward silence, and I’m relieved when Joe, the mechanic, tells me he sees nothing wrong with my vehicle. No tracking device hiding under the body. No broken wires. I’m good to go.
“Did you check the space above the tires?” Randy asks him as I’m getting in the car.
“Sure did. Nothing.”
“Great, thanks so much,” I chirp, happy to get the hell out of here. Randy is a reminder of the relatively normal life I could be living. He is a grounding influence, and some would say I need that. But I disagree. I'm a grown woman, and I'm doing just fine.
I like my independence, and my obsessions, which are just passions with a purpose. Obsession is the quality that sees things through. Without it, you’ve got a stalemate, another cold case in an endless stack of cold case files. I refuse to let this killer leave this town before I’ve helped snag him. He’s right within our grasp, and there is not a moment of rest we can afford. I’ll help get this sucker. I know I will.
After waving bye, I head up the highway. On cue, Dante calls.
"What you up to?"
"Just left the police station."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Letting Randy know what I could about the night before Scott was found. I didn't mention you. But...I thought about it."
"What is there to mention?"
"That you saw him. Maybe after he left my place."
"Nope. But what if I did?"
"Then you might pertinent information that could help the case. Every detail matters."
"But I've got nothing to offer about that, Helena. Or I'd have already spoken with police. You forget, I live here, too. I might be getting some work out of this thing, like every other fucking imbecile in this town. But that doesn't mean I'm excited the sicko is hanging around. Especially when it comes to your safety."
I sigh audibly, raising a hand from the steering wheel to rub my eye.
"You sound tired," he says in that deep, soothing voice of his. He's got a late-night radio voice, smooth and full of bass.
"I'm just...a little underslept."
"I can come over. Help you catch zees," he offers.
"Probably not." More like keep me up all night. I know he hears the weakness in my voice. I'm tired, mentally drained, and this makes me more vulnerable. The last forty eight hours have been a nightmarish whirlwind. Seeing Randy, only added to my angst. Why does he do that to me? He means well, but I always feel worse after I'm around him, as if my emotions are getting the best of me. Dante on the other hand...
"You sure about that, Helena?" Add a barely repressed layer of deepening hunger to that late-night bass-voice, and that's how Dante sounds right now. It's Goddamn irresistible. I could use a big dose of his poison right now.
"Only one problem," I say. "An officer is coming over to watch outside my place."
He puffs out air. "Randy's doing?"
"Yep. It will be reported that you were at my house."
"Who cares?"
"I guess you don't."
"You could come to my place, instead. But I'm in the sticks. Besides, why the hell should you care what Randy thinks? Don't tell me you still have feelings for him."
"No," I say flatly. It's complicated. Randy is a sap. Surely, everybody has feelings of of one kind or another when they are around him. He brings that out in people.
"You're a terrible liar, Helena. I'm going to punish you for that."
"Promise?"
"Be there in thirty."
Click.
Wait, what? My stomach drops, unleashing a frenzy of butterflies. Alerted with anticipation, I'm feeling more awake than I have all day. Damn, Dante is like a shot of espresso to the vein.
If only Randy didn't have to know about him. About us. Up until recently, we'd managed to keep it under wraps. God, I can't believe someone saw us—my worst fear come true. They didn't name Dante. It must have been due to the hoodie he had on. Or they saw him but didn't know who he was. Not everybody in this town knows one another, or is from here.
I should probably tell Dante to call this off. But then I remember what Randy said about taking mental breaks. He's not totally wrong. Breaks are healthy. I could use a fleeting escape from reality.
But what if the only way you know how to let loose is an addictive drug? What if that's the only thing that truly sets you free for a darkly delicious moment in time?
Dante is that sweet vice for me.