Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lincoln / Present
M ichael Knight throws a balled-up piece of paper at my face, snickering as it bounces off my forehead and onto his dirty garage floor. “We’re out of beer, Hawk.”
I hold up the bottle in my hand that’s still half-full. “Not completely.”
I’ve been nursing it for the last forty-five minutes, so the liquid inside tastes more like lukewarm piss than alcohol.
“You’re the only sober one,” Chris Vaughn points out, tipping back in his lawn chair.
Now I remember why I always hated being the odd one out who didn’t drink. “Last time I went on a beer run, you assholes said you’d Venmo me money and never did.”
My two oldest friends share a look, both grinning, before returning their focus to me.
It’s Vaughn who says, “You’re the money maker, Hawk. Us lowlifes don’t know what it’s like to be able to buy whatever we want whenever we want it.”
I snort at his dramatics. “That’s because you decided to have kids who cost ten times as much as a lifetime supply of twelve-packs.”
“Twenty times as much since this poor fucker got twins on his first try,” Knight muses.
I don’t envy the former marine sitting beside me. When he and his wife told us they were expecting twins, I could see the terror in Vaughn’s eyes. He loves his son and daughter, but I can tell they drain him a little more every day.
“You would have money too, if you didn’t leave,” I tell Knight, turning my focus on him. “I could have used you a time or two if you’d taken the exam.”
He talked about sticking out the State Police like I did, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle all the bullshit that came with the ever-growing policy changes. “Nah, man. Getting out of law enforcement was the best thing I could have done for myself. Too many politics involved.”
What job didn’t have politics attached to it these days? “But the pay is worth it. Then you could go on beer runs instead of making me the lackey.”
He chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“How is your business, bud?” Vaughn asks Knight, speaking of the security business he started from the ground up almost five years ago. He used to do security installations on the side when he worked for the state but took it on full-time when he left.
I can tell he’s happier now. There’s less stress from the job. He works on his own schedule rather than doing what other people tell him to do and when to do it. It was probably the best move he made, even if it meant one less ally I had when things got rocky.
Knight looks nostalgic. “Thriving, man. I wasn’t sure how well it’d do, but ever since we expanded to the five boroughs, we’ve never done better. People out there are used to being charged through the ass, so they choose us in a heartbeat when they see our competitive pricing.”
I’ve never thought about life after law enforcement. Not even what came after retirement. I’d get a good pension I could live off of, but what then? The job is taxing, which is why people get an early retirement at twenty years served. There’s a lot of life left to be lived after you’re done, so some people do part-time work at other agencies, while others focus on their families.
Then there’s me.
My path is wide open, but I have no idea what I’ll do with it.
“If you ever decide you’re done with the state,” Knight tells me, “I can use the help. You know we’ve expanded into PI work. You’d be a hell of a private eye.”
I do know that. It’s what got me into trouble at the end of my marriage. Not that I can blame Knight. I’d asked him to look into Georgia despite his warnings against it.
“You still seeing Lucy?” I ask him to change topics. He’d been in an on-again, off-again relationship for years. I always told him he could do better, but who was I to talk?
Knight stretches his legs out, letting me drop the previous conversation. “Nah, I think she got tired of my hours. She’s seeing some lawyer in Brooklyn.”
“Oooh.” Vaughn makes a face. “She switched to the dark side. Sorry to hear that, man.”
Knight shrugs. “It’s fine. Our sex life was becoming nonexistent anyway. I can’t remember the last time I got my dick sucked.” He’s thoughtful for a second. “Actually, I do. It was a couple weeks after the breakup. Met a girl at The Barrel. She was hot, but she used too much teeth—”
Vaughn groans. “We don’t need the details, bro.”
Knight scoffs. “Says the guy who told us all about his wife’s monster hemorrhoids that you basically fucked out of her.”
Vaughn pales. “Dude, it was brutal. I thought she had ass cancer when I bent her over the bed and saw them. Turns out, pregnancy can do that to you. She even named them they were so big.”
“Dude,” we groan simultaneously.
Vaughn holds up his hands. “You’ll get it when you two decide to grow up and settle down. Next thing you know, you’ll be going to the pharmacy to pick up hemorrhoid cream and adult diapers with witch hazel for your wife.”
Knight looks at me, watching as I take a long sip of my beer. It’s a long stretch of silence before I say, “Been there, done that.”
Vaughn realizes what he said. “Sorry, man. I just meant—”
“You don’t need to elaborate,” I cut him off, knowing he’ll just dig himself a hole. Standing, I tuck my wallet into my back pocket. “What kind of beer do you want?”
Vaughn clears his throat. “Hey, about Georgia—”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
He presses his lips together and nods once.
Knight says, “Corona.”
I grab my truck keys and leave before I can hear them mumbling something about me that I don’t want to hear.
*
The grocery store is quiet when I walk in. A few of the workers I’ve dealt with in the past offer me smiles in greeting, probably glad I’m not here to deal with another larceny case.
I beeline toward the alcohol section, browsing the selection to kill time. My friends mean well, but their prying is grating sometimes. If I go back too early, they’ll want to talk about shit I don’t want to deal with. But if I stick it out here, they’ll likely get bored and forget about the impromptu intervention they have planned for my arrival.
As I reach for the twelve-pack of Corona, I see a familiar head of brown hair attached to a petite frame. She’s not wearing glasses or a skirt and there’s not a notepad in sight. “Surprised to see you here, doc,” I remark, causing Doctor Castro to startle.
She nearly drops the bottle of strawberry daiquiri, but I quickly catch it before it hits the linoleum. “Mr. Danforth,” she says, accepting the drink I hold out to her.
“It’s Lincoln,” I remind her, noting how small she looks drowning in an oversized hoodie. “I’d say you can drop the formalities since we’re in public.”
Her smile is the same professional one she gives me during our sessions, but there’s something tense in it.
I readjust the beer in my hand. “What? Are you going to pretend not to know me? You’re going to hurt my feelings.”
“Didn’t you read the paperwork you signed when we began working together?” she asks, one eyebrow arched up.
“No,” I admit. “Was I supposed to? I figured it was like the terms and conditions. Nobody reads those.”
The softest laugh comes from her. “It states that we’re not supposed to talk outside of sessions for privacy reasons. It’s to protect you and your personal life.”
Huh. “So you just ignore people?”
“I smile.”
The smile on my face grows. “I think you want to talk to me though.”
A crease forms in between her brows. She looks different without glasses. I’ve always liked them on her, but her face is open—her eyes not hidden behind the thick frames. “How do you figure that?”
“Simple. You haven’t walked away.”
Her gaze dips down to her drink, then at the box I’m holding. She doesn’t try to dismiss me or walk away. I’m right, and we both know it.
“They’re not all for me,” I explain, not that she asked. “I’m hanging out with my buddies. They decided to make me the beer runner.”
“I’m glad you’re hanging out with friends.”
“Rather than my ex-wife?” I ask, a twinkle in my eye when I see her gaze meet mine.
That smile on her face wavers again, like there’s something she wants to say but holds back. “That’s no business of mine, Mr.—”
“Lincoln.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Once again, I’m met with silence.
“Haven’t spoken to her in a while either.”
The good doctor looks down, her fingers fiddling with the bottle in her hand.
Quietly, I say, “Just in case you are wondering, Theresa.”
Her head bolts up at the sound of her name.
I lift a shoulder, not saying anything else.
Not until she speaks. “Do you do that with everyone?”
“Do what?”
“Flirt.”
Is that what I’m doing? “I’m not flirting.”
Her cheeks pinken at the assumption.
I grin. “Not yet anyway.”
She evades my eyes. “It’s not appropriate, Mr. Danforth.”
Her formality makes me chuckle. “One day, you’re going to call me Lincoln. Mark my words.”
The challenge in her straightened stance tells me she’s determined to prove me wrong. “I don’t think that day will come.”
Humming, I nod in reluctance. I don’t believe her, but I’ll let her believe I do. “That’s all right. I don’t force friendships. Or anything else.”
For the first time ever, I see her roll her eyes. It’s almost amusing to see her so normal. Gone are the business casual clothes. Her legs look good in a pair of denim jeans, and I even think she looks more attractive in the hoodie with her hair down. She’s not wearing makeup.
She’s simply…her.
I’d call her beautiful, but something tells me she wouldn’t like that.
“You’re not wearing glasses,” I note, scanning over her face again.
She readjusts the drink in her hands, shifting her weight. I make her nervous. Interesting. “I only need them to read and write.”
“Have you ever considered Lasik?”
“Once or twice,” is all she replies, clearly not wanting to continue the subject.
“Sweet tooth?” I ask instead, nodding toward her drink of choice. “I’ve never been able to drink the sweet shit without getting a horrible hangover.”
Georgia loved sweet wine. I’d had her try a few different types when she admitted she only ever drank whiskey from her father’s office. I’d indulge in a glass or two with her when we went out, but it wasn’t my favorite.
There’s hesitation only a moment before she sighs. “It’s one of my many vices.”
Interest has me studying her. “Care to share what your other ones are?”
Her eyes scan over my face, then lower to the twelve-pack in my hand. She takes a step back, smiles that professional smile, and says, “You should get back to your friends.”
“You’re not big on small talk, are you?”
There’s a brief pause. “Only with some people. Have a good night, Mr. Danforth.”
She’s drawing a line between us and being sure to stay on one side of it.
But a nudging in my gut urges me to try walking over it.
I don’t.
Because I like the good doc.
Respect her.
So, I say, “Good night, doc.”
And watch her walk away with an extra tight grip on her daiquiri.