Reality finally drifted in, bringing unwanted memories with it.
Yesterday had been one long, slow swirl down the toilet bowl of life. Almost losing her job. Thinking Brittany was dead. Everything attached to Junior. Fighting for Lathan’s freedom. And the cherry on the shit sundae—the nightmare.
Today was going to be a better day. Last night, when she’d felt the most broken, Lathan had pieced her back together, shifting the parts around in a combination that made her better than before.
She raised her arms above her head and squirmed around, lengthening every muscle in a long, luxurious stretch. A million different aches and pains should be screaming from her fight with Junior, but she felt surprisingly good. Stable in mind and body.
She got out of bed, used the bathroom, then headed downstairs to find Lathan. Like a smoker needs his cancer sticks, she needed Lathan. The world felt right when she was near him. The dude had healing properties or something.
At the bottom of the stairs, Evanee looked through the living room to the kitchen. Gill stood at the counter, typing into his phone. Part of her was grateful he’d shown up last night. Lathan’s release probably had more to do with Gill’s FBI status than her stubborn fight for him, but that still didn’t make her want to socialize with him.
She turned to tiptoe back up the stairs.
“You’re awake.” Amusement sounded in his tone. He knew she’d been trying to sneak away and had called her on it.
She turned and stuck her tongue out at him. God, she couldn’t stand how he looked. Too perfect. Too pretty. He reminded her of Junior. But he was Lathan’s friend. And she should at least try to be cordial to him. “Where’s Lathan?”
“Coffee’s on.” He indicated the half-full pot. “And we need to talk.”
Great. Another talk with Gill. She didn’t know him well, but she knew talk was his code word for interrogation. Three interrogations in three days. Gill, Hal, now Gill again. Had to be some sort of record.
“Where’s Lathan?”
Gill poured her a cup of coffee, set it on the table. “Have a seat.” He straddled a chair.
“I’m not moving until you tell me where Lathan is.” She crossed her arms spoiled-brat style.
“Working.”
She hadn’t thought about him having a job. Of course he had a job. How much time had he taken off just to help her? Maybe she should feel guilty about that, but she just wanted to kiss him. “When will he be back?”
“I don’t know.” The way Gill said the words made her believe he really didn’t know.
“Cream?” she asked and walked to the chair across from him.
“He doesn’t do dairy.”
“Doesn’t do dairy?”
When Gill didn’t elaborate, she sipped the coffee and tried not to grimace at its bitterness.
“Who gave you Janie Carson’s eye?”
The cup slipped from her fingers, crashed to the table, spilled. She jumped up to get a towel, but Gill put a hand on her arm.
“Sit.” His tone was warm. He began cleaning up the coffee with a wad of paper towels.
She sat, not because she trusted him, but because at this point she needed some answers for herself. “Janie Carson. She was a real little girl?”
“DNA preliminaries point to the eye being hers,” he said and tossed the wad of wet towels into the trash bin. “We’re running some other tests—checking out a few other things—but that’s the one thing we are fairly certain about.”
She met and held his gaze. “I already told you everything I know about the eye.”
He seemed to calculate her words before he spoke. “What about last night? What was that?”
“Another one of those dreams.” Another one. She’d had two of them. What if she kept having them? What if she had one every time she slept? Good-bye, sanity.
“Tell me everything.”
Just like the first time, he picked apart every sentence and tried to trip her up. But the truth was easy to remember. Finally, he asked her write the dream down. After she finished, he read over her words.
“Lathan says you aren’t involved in the Janie Carson case or whatever case the hair and tooth belong to.”
“Lathan says? Does he work for the FBI too?”
“What Lathan does is nobody’s business but his own.” A bit of the asshole tone crept back into Gill’s voice, and the way he glared at her warned her never to ask again.
What was going on? Was Lathan some top-secret spy or something? Her own personal James Bond. A smile ticked up her lips. No wonder she felt so safe with him.
“Junior drugged Brit—your roommate. Slipped her a roofie.” Gill’s voice was calm again.
The smile faded. Poor Brittany. “Is she all right?”
“She’s not physically harmed.”
“You know nothing’s going to happen to Junior. Nothing ever does.” The dull sound of resignation took over her vocal cords. Time for a subject change. “What time is it?”
“Two forty-five.”
She had just enough time to arrange a new room, take a shower, and get over to Sweet Buns. “You really don’t know when Lathan’s going to be back?”
“I don’t.” Gill sounded sincere.
“I hate to ask this of you, but can you take me to work?”
“Call off today,” he said, as if her job were no more important than a grain of sand on a beach.
“No.”
His head snapped up at her abrupt answer.
“If I’m not at work tonight, I’m fired. If I’m fired, I’m homeless in two days.” She wished she was exaggerating, but she wasn’t.
“How do I know you’re not going to skip town?”
“I don’t have a car. Junior took it, and the police won’t ask him about it. I don’t have any money. And if I wanted to skip town, I would’ve hopped in one of the long-haul semis and been gone by now.”
“Lathan wanted you to wait for him.” Distaste crossed Gill’s features as he spoke.