Noah looked down at the cup in his hands. “Yeah.”
Trina sighed heavily. “So you did go to Sal’s tonight. You had me confused there for a minute. You normally only come over to punch on Brock on Monday nights.”
Noah barely fought the urge to fidget in his seat. “Well, I won’t be going back.”
“Glad to hear it,” Trina said cautiously. “What about Eve?”
“Not meant to be,” Noah said, ignoring the disappointment. “I’m moving on.”
“Really, now?” she asked, her tone deceptively mild. “Then I have a friend you’d like. She’s Joey’s kindergarten teacher. Really pretty and she likes those dark philosophers you like to read. Y’know, the ones that make you want to drown your head in a bucket.”
Brock looked away, but failed to hide his smirk.
Trina leaned forward, all charm and smiles. “I think I’ll invite her to dinner for you. You can bring a pie or something. How does tomorrow night look?”
Noah hated when Trina read him like a book. “Busy.”
“Tuesday? Wednesday? Busy?” She made a scoffing noise. “You’re a lousy liar.”
He frowned darkly. “I won’t go back to Sal’s. You have my word.”
“Good. But don’t lie to me about Eve. You don’t move on. You linger and wallow.”
“I do not,” he said, offended. “Brock?”
Brock shook his head. “I already got beat up once tonight.”
Trina threw a sympathetic glance at Brock before turning serious eyes on Noah. “You don’t have to go to a bar to see a bartender. She has a life outside of Sal’s.” She brightened, wryly. “I bet she even eats. I know. Why not invite Eve to dinner, instead?”
Noah clenched his teeth. “It isn’t meant to be, Tree. Just leave it. Promise me.”
Trina pushed away from the table, annoyed. “Fine. I promise. Satisfied?”
Not really. Part of him hadn’t wanted her to give up so easily. But Noah stood, kissed her cheek, and said what he needed to. “Yes. Go back to bed. I’m going home.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” she said and Noah swallowed his sigh. This meant she had more to say. Dutifully Noah followed her to the door where she buttoned his coat as if he was one of her sons. She looked up, troubled. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation, and she smiled, but sadly.
“Tonight… you scared me, Noah. If you two hadn’t stopped when you did, I would have stopped you. You were so angry.”
He closed his eyes, shame washing through him. “I know.”
“You will always be welcome here, no matter what time of the day or night. But you can’t go after Brock like that again. He won’t say so because he’s too proud, but you could seriously hurt him. You were rocked tonight by that dream. But there was more to it than that.” She tugged on his coat. “Dammit, you look at me.”
He opened his eyes and swallowed hard. There was no accusation in her eyes, just love, fierce and sharp. “You’re not ready to move on, Noah. Eve’s touched something in you that you don’t want to walk away from, whether you want to admit it or not. And I think that’s what was pushing you tonight, not a dream and not this case.”
“I know,” he murmured, miserably. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”
Trina hugged him hard. “Trust yourself. You’re a good man, Noah Webster. You don’t deserve to be alone forever.” She gave him a shrewd look. “You’re not the only one with bad dreams. Brock and I see bad shit every day, just like you do.”
“So what do you do when you have dreams, Tree?”
“Sometimes I raid the fridge for anything chocolate. Sometimes I work out. And sometimes I just fuck Brock’s brains out.” He snorted a surprised laugh and she lifted a brow. “There’s something to be said for therapeutic sex. Maybe you should get some.”
Her words sent instant images of Eve, long and lithe, sliding her body down his. He thought of the yearning he’d seen in her eyes tonight, the need she’d tried so hard to hide. He shuddered, clenching his fists in his pockets. “I won’t drag her down with me.”
“Sometimes, Noah, it’s just out of your hands.”
“You promised,” he warned, but wearily and without bite.
“Yeah, I did. But sometimes fate steps in and kicks your ass. You think you know what she needs. Hell,” she scoffed, “you don’t even know what you need.”
“What I need is sleep.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Go, before you get sick.”
Monday, February 22, 4:00 a.m.
Christy had been sitting in the booth by the window for over an hour. She’d had five cups of coffee, having finished the waffles she’d ordered when the waitress got testy.
He didn’t dare go inside. Unlike the coffee shop where he’d watched Martha, in this diner he’d stick out like a sore thumb. The diner served all night, but most of their clients were truckers and the occasional hungry traveler. And Christy Lewis.
“Who is finally tired of waiting for John,” he murmured as she dug into her purse. She paid her bill before disappearing for several minutes, which he assumed was a trip to the ladies’ room. Reappearing with her face blotchy, which he assumed meant she’d indulged in a fit of tears, she walked to her car, her head down against the wind.
One hour, twenty minutes, and fifty-five seconds. So far Christy Lewis had waited longer than any of them. He might have enjoyed that fact, except that the car he was driving was too small, even for him. But the little car was part of the plan, just like the choice of this particular diner. More “clues” for the Hat Squad. It was going to drive them crazy. That Christy had consumed food while she’d waited seemed an unfair autopsy freebie, but he couldn’t change that now.
With a defiant tilt of her chin, she pulled down her visor mirror and slashed on fresh lipstick before capping the tube and throwing it hard at her windshield. He hoped her anger would carry her home faster. He got a shiver of anticipation, just thinking about what lay ahead, and pulled out of the diner’s parking lot behind her.
Monday, February 22, 4:35 a.m.
Christy slammed her car door, the noise echoing in the night. I am so stupid. How many times had she heard about lies online? You should know. You tell them yourself. That was different. That was Shadow-land. This was real life and he’d lied.
Maybe he was there. Maybe he took one look at you and ran the other way.
“Goddammit.” She stumbled up the sidewalk, tripping in the heels she’s spent next month’s grocery money on. You’re a stupid idiot, just like Jerry said. She struggled with her keys, hands shaking as her ex-husband’s voice rolled through her mind. Clumsy, ugly. You’ll never find anyone else willing to look at your face every morning.
He’s right. There’s nobody out there for somebody like me. She’d been suckered tonight, waited like a fool for an online asshole that never showed, who’d probably never intended to show. “John,” whoever he was, was probably laughing at her right now.
Just like Jerry had when she’d caught him with that slut. In my bed.
She shoved the front-door key into the lock, her eyes narrowing at a new thought.
“Jerry.” It made sense. Her ex knew computers, but he wouldn’t even have needed to hack in. She hadn’t logged out of Shadowland in God only knew how long. She’d changed the locks, but that wouldn’t have kept him out. He’d broken into the house. Her cheeks flamed. Read my Ninth Circle conversations. Why on earth had she saved them? So, like a loser, she could read them again and again, pretending to have a life.
“He set me up,” she hissed. “Sonofafuckingbitch set me up.”
She pushed the door open, furious. She’d get him, the lying, screwing SOB, if it was the last thing she- A hand clamped over her mouth and her heart froze. Jerry. Fury supplanted the fear. This was taking it too damn far. I’ll kill you for this.