“No wait, don’t tell me. I know this one. You and your girlfriends got together and took one of those defense classes and got all fucking high on the power and─”
“It’s none of your fucking business, Stiles!”
When she stops to face me, abruptly, her eyes are glassy. That’s enough to catch me off guard, but then I notice her quivering chin to boot.
Combined with the fact that the tone in her voice just went from uncomfortably playful to defensively agitated, I know.
It’s personal, not professional.
Options blow through my mind in an instant.
Kidnapping.
Mugging.
Abuse.
Rape.
That last one gives me pause. I search her thoughtful gaze for something that will cross it off the list, but there’s nothing. So, I make an attempt to verbally nix the idea of some sort of abusive situation.
“How bad?”
Wait, that wasn’t where I was going with this.
“None.” She swallows down some anger.
“Did you know him?” Stop getting personal, Stiles.
“Of.”
“Did he stalk you?” ‘Cause I can identify with that fuckery.
“Your.”
“Did he…” I can’t even finish my fucking sentence this time.
“Business.” She looks away at something on a rack after she says the last word. She wipes her face, and it’s pretty clear the door is shut. She’s not entertaining my curiosity any more this evening.
And I’m not in the mood to push the subject further, if I’m being completely honest.
Something unexpected rises up inside me as leftover ideas of what might have happened to her swirl around in my brain.
Compassion.
I feel the urge to punch something.
Really fucking hard.
“Green.” Her name floats off of my lips. I’m not even sure why I say it, except I can’t leave shit like this.
Slowly, she looks up at me. Na?veté plays at the edges of her eyes reminding me of the first day I met her.
At first, I believed I was gonna try and lighten the mood by giving her one last dig for the night, free of charge. But now, as I stand here witnessing her vulnerability, I’m more inclined to offer up some professional advice. And maybe a little bit of personal guidance is thrown in there, too.
“You might wanna think about getting a waistband holster.” I whisper into her ear. Just our little secret. “Easier to get to and quicker on the draw.”
She pulls away from me, but not wholeheartedly. It’s more like she’s not sure if I’m serious or kidding.
My heart is about to beat itself right the fuck out of my chest.
The moment is quickly turning meaningful between the two of us and it’s uncomfortable, to say the least. I sense a crack in the carefully constructed universe I’ve created, originally full of animosity toward the woman.
I’m not at all sure what the hell to do with it.
So I end the conversation here.
“Later, Green.”
I give her a half-smile and leave for a register as far away from where we’re standing as possible.
And damn, I really need that drink right about now.
X X X
By the time Stix and I get to Tricky’s place, I’ve made several attempts to push the potentially dark and twisted back story of Emma Green out of my mind. And failed.
When I see Tricky waiting for us outside, the Target store moment is forgotten. For now.
Tricky paces with one arm tucked into the other as he chews on his thumbnail. A habit he’s had for as long as I can remember. It makes him come off like a jittery rabbit as opposed to a down to business bail-bondsman.
“I don’t think this is the best idea, Stiles.” I’m not even out of the damn car when he tells me he’s changed his mind.
“Relax.” He’s a little dramatic sometimes.
“No, I mean, guess who paid me a visit within five minutes of me getting off the phone with you.”
“Santa Claus?” I can’t help it sometimes.
“Very funny.”
“Okay, I give.” Now Stix is curious, as he gets out of the car.
“None other than the man himself.”
That gives me pause, as well as the kid.
“Thomas?”
“S’right. And he was askin’ questions, too.” He rubs his unshaven face with a rough hand and eyes Stix suspiciously.
Add paranoia on top of nervousness and you’ve got an unstable human being. Ricky’s teetering on the edge with this shit. And can I just add, that’s some damn coincidence, Thomas dropping by.
“About what?”
“Wantin’ to know if maybe I heard something about what happened to that Leary kid. Like a name, maybe.”
“But you haven’t, so…” No problemo. Am I right?
“I told him that, Stiles. But…” he leans in and whispers out of the side of his mouth. “He was suspicious.”