9. Laura
laura
. . .
B y the time I made it to my apartment, my feet were aching, and I had a pounding headache. All I wanted was to go to bed.
I had almost forgotten that I had invited the psychopath in.
Low music was playing. The house smelled like fresh rain and linen, one of my favorite candles.
And there was Harley, in all of her glory, sitting at the table with two glasses of wine in front of her and a tray of cheese and crackers.
She looks very at home in a stranger’s apartment.
And not at all like she had just killed someone.
I didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed. Especially after the cops had grilled the ever-loving shit out of me.
I had a notoriously bad relationship with most of them. I didn’t keep my hate for them hidden. They were useless and most of the time just made my job and my clients’ lives harder.
So of course they had to take me down to the station for interrogation. Of course they had to take an extra hour doing it. Not that it got them anywhere.
A waste of my fucking time.
“Welcome back, darling,” she said as she stood.
I locked the door behind me and met her halfway. My mind was too fried to even know where to begin the lecture I wanted to give her.
She had timed it so perfectly. The cops had shown up right after my scream had alerted them, and right as the restaurant’s owner was helping me “compose” myself after having to push through a suspiciously blocked door—Harley’s doing, I guessed.
Sweet souls inside the restaurant tried to defend me and fight off the police’s questions, but their relationship wasn’t any better than mine, so it fell on deaf ears.
I wanted to tell Harley how much she could have fucked up my career. How close I had come to getting some of the most important people in my business in trouble.
She picked a hell of a victim. And the cops still didn’t fully believe me when I told them I had nothing to do with his murder.
I had a few calls to make so this whole thing would go away. But not now. Not when exhaustion was weighing on me. So much so that I didn’t push her away when she helped me take off my purse and coat before motioning for me to sit at the table.
I opened my mouth to tell her where to put the coat and purse, but somehow, she already knew to carefully hang them in the hidden closet right by the doorway. The action caused another shiver to run up my spine, but I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or fear.
The emotions were too raw, and my mind was too tired to tell the difference.
“I took careful precautions not to stain your clothes,” she said. “I know how pissed you would have been to have to buy new ones.”
This time I didn’t dignify her with a response. I did, however, switch our glasses of wine before taking a big gulp.
“The trust you have in me warms my heart,” she teased as I motioned for her to sit opposite me .
She smiled, as if my invitation was enticing.
“So you just kill people for fun, huh?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. “Actor by day, serial killer by night? A bit cliché, don’t you think?”
Her smirk had her dimples appearing. I wanted to smack them right off her face for how they made my heart stutter.
“Come on, darling. You have better questions than that.”
I should. As a fucking lawyer, I should have a million better questions. I was almost embarrassed that I didn’t.
“You’re not going to kill me,” I said. “But you’re willing to risk my career. You know I could have ended up in jail?”
“Never.” The sureness in her voice caused my chest to expand. “You’re too smart for that.”
“Are you always this reckless?” I asked and took another sip of wine.
“No.” She took a sip of her own wine. “I have a selection process.”
“But you graciously went out of your way to change that,” I deadpanned. “For me.”
“For you,” she confirmed as she licked the remnants of the wine from her lips.
The feeling of those same lips on my neck in the alley had scandalous thoughts running through my head.
“I am a criminal defense lawyer ,” I said, emphasizing the words. “You do realize what it is I do?”
The amusement that flashed across her face caused a burst of annoyance to run through me.
“And I am as criminal as they get, my love.” She ended her sentence with another delicate sip.
She’s playing me. That’s all this is for her. A game.
“You’re a spoiled actor who almost blew up my career,” I hissed, finally letting the anger show in my voice. But it didn’t faze her. Not one bit.
“I have faith you wouldn’t let it happen,” she said with a shrug. “So, what do you say? Can I get you on my team? ”
I threw back the rest of the wine and gave her a hard look.
“Fuck no,” I spat. “I cleaned this up for you. I expect a check of at least a hundred thousand dollars for my services on my counter before you leave. And that’s being fucking generous. You can see yourself out.”
Without another word, I stood up and walked to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.
I woke up to the sound and smell of bacon sizzling, bringing me out of my dreams way before my alarm did.
I had been so tired the night before that I hadn’t fully thought this through.
There’s a murderer in my house.
After her “love letter,” it was a bit delusional of me to believe that she would, in fact, see herself out.
With an annoyed sigh, I pushed the covers off me and marched out of the room. The coldness of the floor made me realize I’d left my slippers by the bed, but that fell to the wayside as soon as I walked into the kitchen.
Harley was there, in clothes that I’d been storing in the guest room since my closet ran out of space. Her curly hair was down and slightly damp.
A murderer slept here, took a shower, and is wearing my clothes.
She turned to me with a smile, frying pan in her hand.
“I thought I might have to wake you,” she said with a smile. “You have an eight thirty with Justin?—”
“You were supposed to leave.” I took a few steps toward the counter, my eyes falling to the piece of paper on the marble surface.
A check. Three hundred thousand dollars.
The murderer is oddly generous.
She placed the bacon on two plates, which I then realized were already piled with the most delicious-looking blueberry pancakes. My mouth watered, and my stomach twisted with hunger pains.
I hadn’t even eaten after last night’s ordeal.
“You can consider that a sort of down payment,” she said as she placed the pan back on the stove. A black coffee was in her hands in seconds and she was handing it to me.
Without thinking, I reached for it.
“I said I didn’t want to work with you. Especially not after the trouble you caused me last night.”
She paused, holding her own coffee now. “Does it scare you, darling?”
I raised a brow at her. Maybe it did, but I would rather die before admitting that to her.
“No.”
“Do I scare you then?”
I took a sip of the coffee. There were hints of caramel and pecan in it, something that hadn’t come from my cupboard. Damn, it was good.
“A bit offensive to think the likes of you could scare me .”
She let out a light laugh before taking another sip of her coffee.
“Eat.” She pushed a plate toward me. “You don’t have much time.”
My stomach grumbled. I hoped she hadn’t heard, but her smirk told me she did.
Looking at her dimpled smile in the morning light while still remembering her blood-stained face the night before was giving me whiplash.
Reluctantly, I put the coffee down and grabbed the fork on the plate before going straight for the blueberry pancakes.
But as soon as I took a bite, I paused. A familiar taste spread across my taste buds. One that had memories flashing through my mind like a TV screen.
“These are from Veronica’s café,” I mumbled, forcing myself to take another bite.
How did she get these ?
“I had my assistant pull some strings,” she said with a shrug. “You don’t have much here, and I knew you’d probably get peeved if I brought my chefs in, so I made some slight adjustments and worked with what I could. Do you like it?”
In my stupor, I almost said yes.
“What do you want?” I asked instead and focused on trying not to shove the entire plate of food into my mouth.
Veronica’s had been a staple for me in the past. Mostly when I was so exhausted from studying up on my cases that I took my laptop there and sat for hours eating those very same blueberry pancakes.
They were delicious, but nothing special. It was the hours and hours I’d spent working there and building up my career that caused me to still love them so much.
Nostalgia.
I hadn’t been there in ages.
How the hell did she know? What strings did her assistant pull to get this information?
Harley moved to the end of the counter and pushed a stack of white papers over to me.
“A contract,” she said as if I couldn’t read the bold letters in the header. “But you can take your time to read it. I’m sure you have more pressing questions first.”
It was hard to hide my snort.
Fuck yeah, I have questions.
Questions, concerns, glaringly obvious issues. Like thinking I wanted to call the police since I stepped out of my room.
“So that wasn’t your first kill, obviously. We established that last night.” I gave her a look. “What’s your selection process like? How often do you do it? Or is this something you only do for people you’re obsessed with?”
She let out another laugh. It was warm and sent heat up my neck and face.
“I’ll tell you a bit, but I won’t fully disclose anything until you sign that,” she said, motioning to the stack of papers in front of me .
“Tell me what you can then.”
“No, he was not my first, but I also don’t do it for people I’m obsessed with,” she replied. “Let’s just say I have somewhat of an unusual hobby. Like you said last night, actor by day, killer by night.”
Harley was not my first murderer, but there was something different about her. She was oddly sane even as she was admitting what she just did. Usually, the people who confided in me about their murders were more… deranged.
She had looked pretty unhinged the night before, but for the most part, she seemed as normal as any of my other clients. Maybe even more so.
“And if I say no again?”
“The footage will be hand-delivered to a detective of my choosing,” she said.
My heart stopped in my chest.
Ah, so that’s where it went. And that’s why the cops didn’t mention it.
“Even if you go down with me?”
She leaned forward, coming closer.
“Either we both go down or neither of us does. Plus, if I get caught, I’ll make sure we share a cell. Money is a wonderful thing, as I’m sure you know.”
“You would throw away everything just to be stuck in a cell with me for god knows how long?”
My mind was racing through all the possibilities. I could fight it. But she was right. Money was a hell of a thing. She could easily choose a detective who would take her money, bonus points if he hated me.
“I would. Wouldn’t it be so lovely if you and I shared a jail cell? There would be no running away then. You’d be stuck with me. Forever.”
I take back the sane part.
“I’ll look it over,” I grumbled. “But you have to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome. ”
She just gave me another smile and put her coffee down on the counter with a small clink.
“I’ll see you soon, darling. Please do let me know what you think of the contract. My number’s in there too.”
“Harley?” I asked, turning to her. “Why me?”
She never replied as she walked out the door, still wearing my clothes.