of the journalists had graciously accepted her “no comment” but one persistent newshound kept insisting Lacey return her calls. She’d deleted every one of the pushy voicemails without hesitation. This time she almost hoped the bitch would be on the other end of the line so she could vent some of her frustration. Mentally, she cracked her knuckles preparing to rip the caller a new asshole.
“Hello?” Instead of the high-pitched, scratchy female voice she expected, only static buzzed across the crappy connection. “Hello?” she asked once more before shrugging and hanging up.
Ring.
“Hello?”
Again, no answer though she thought she heard a soft whimper. After several more seconds of silence, she decided she’d fabricated the sound while straining to hear anything on the other end of the line.
She smashed the receiver into the cradle with a thump. Great, now she had some prankster giving her shit, too. She marched into the living room then collapsed onto the couch. Just glancing at the pitiful excuse for a talk show playing on Rob’s TV brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t stand the solitude a moment longer.
Her gaze flicked to the gap in the curtains where she spotted another nondescript vehicle parked inconspicuously on the shoulder of the neighborhood road. The glint of tawny hair she caught beaming in the shaft of sunlight illuminating the driver-side window made up her mind.
Lacey returned to the kitchen and dug a stainless steel thermos out of the cupboard. A dash of creamer, two spoonfuls of sugar and a semi-stale pastry—leftover from the wake—completed her package. She bundled the treats and a stash of napkins into a plastic grocery bag before creeping out the kitchen exit, like a thief, into her own backyard.
She slipped through the gate in the fence between her house and her neighbor Rhonda’s then made her way across various lawns by dodging Mr. Roper’s clothesline and circling around the Smith kids’ gargantuan neon plastic playset until she reached the patch of evergreens blanketing the community park. Under their cover she slipped across the street then backtracked, keeping the brush on the undeveloped berm between her and the average tan sedan.
As she drew closer, she paused to take in Mason’s serious expression which reflected his focus on his observation of her home. Chills ran the length of her arm. What was he looking for? Determined to have answers, she strode the last handful of paces to the car and yanked the door handle. Lacey practically dove into the passenger seat, guaranteeing he couldn’t flee yet again.
The motion put her an inch from the business end of Mason’s drawn Sig P226.
She blinked.
“Son of a bitch! Lacey!” He re-holstered the gun with cool efficiency. “Are you trying to get shot? Never sneak up on me like that again!”
“S-sorry.” She ducked her head between her knees and took a couple of cleansing breaths to chase away the spots cluttering her vision.
“Shit!” Mason’s broad hand pushed her hair aside to massage the nape of her neck, rubbing the tension away. “Are you okay?”
When her heartbeat had slowed to a mere gallop she rose and said, “Peachy. Brought you a snack.” She handed over the now-slightly-squished cruller.
Their hands brushed when he accepted the goodies she shoved at him. She watched his stony features as he set the thermos in the cup holder but didn’t move to drink from it. Judging by the pulsing muscle in his jaw, she’d swear he was grinding his teeth.
She took a moment to soak in his stoic grimace. Blunt cheekbones, a prominent forehead and a narrow nose should not have added up to the male perfection she saw, yet somehow, it did. She longed for him to say something, anything, to reassure her that she hadn’t obliterated every last spark of their friendship.
“Go ahead, have some. You must be freezing out here. It’s barely forty degrees and you haven’t turned on the car in hours.” She
“Hello?” Instead of the high-pitched, scratchy female voice she expected, only static buzzed across the crappy connection. “Hello?” she asked once more before shrugging and hanging up.
Ring.
“Hello?”
Again, no answer though she thought she heard a soft whimper. After several more seconds of silence, she decided she’d fabricated the sound while straining to hear anything on the other end of the line.
She smashed the receiver into the cradle with a thump. Great, now she had some prankster giving her shit, too. She marched into the living room then collapsed onto the couch. Just glancing at the pitiful excuse for a talk show playing on Rob’s TV brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t stand the solitude a moment longer.
Her gaze flicked to the gap in the curtains where she spotted another nondescript vehicle parked inconspicuously on the shoulder of the neighborhood road. The glint of tawny hair she caught beaming in the shaft of sunlight illuminating the driver-side window made up her mind.
Lacey returned to the kitchen and dug a stainless steel thermos out of the cupboard. A dash of creamer, two spoonfuls of sugar and a semi-stale pastry—leftover from the wake—completed her package. She bundled the treats and a stash of napkins into a plastic grocery bag before creeping out the kitchen exit, like a thief, into her own backyard.
She slipped through the gate in the fence between her house and her neighbor Rhonda’s then made her way across various lawns by dodging Mr. Roper’s clothesline and circling around the Smith kids’ gargantuan neon plastic playset until she reached the patch of evergreens blanketing the community park. Under their cover she slipped across the street then backtracked, keeping the brush on the undeveloped berm between her and the average tan sedan.
As she drew closer, she paused to take in Mason’s serious expression which reflected his focus on his observation of her home. Chills ran the length of her arm. What was he looking for? Determined to have answers, she strode the last handful of paces to the car and yanked the door handle. Lacey practically dove into the passenger seat, guaranteeing he couldn’t flee yet again.
The motion put her an inch from the business end of Mason’s drawn Sig P226.
She blinked.
“Son of a bitch! Lacey!” He re-holstered the gun with cool efficiency. “Are you trying to get shot? Never sneak up on me like that again!”
“S-sorry.” She ducked her head between her knees and took a couple of cleansing breaths to chase away the spots cluttering her vision.
“Shit!” Mason’s broad hand pushed her hair aside to massage the nape of her neck, rubbing the tension away. “Are you okay?”
When her heartbeat had slowed to a mere gallop she rose and said, “Peachy. Brought you a snack.” She handed over the now-slightly-squished cruller.
Their hands brushed when he accepted the goodies she shoved at him. She watched his stony features as he set the thermos in the cup holder but didn’t move to drink from it. Judging by the pulsing muscle in his jaw, she’d swear he was grinding his teeth.
She took a moment to soak in his stoic grimace. Blunt cheekbones, a prominent forehead and a narrow nose should not have added up to the male perfection she saw, yet somehow, it did. She longed for him to say something, anything, to reassure her that she hadn’t obliterated every last spark of their friendship.
“Go ahead, have some. You must be freezing out here. It’s barely forty degrees and you haven’t turned on the car in hours.” She
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