Chapter 20 #2
“Please don’t mention something being in your mouth or spitting any more tonight, Lila. There’s only so much teasing I can take.”
We share a laugh, and the familiarity of our banter drives away some of my doubts about her. When we’re like this, casual and relaxed, it’s hard to recall why I ever thought she’d be involved in something criminal.
Even if she hurt me a few years ago, there’s no way this woman could ever be part of something violent.
Not a fucking chance.
“No more jokes until I’m done with this drink,” she orders coyly.
I offer a wordless nod of agreement.
My gaze lingers on her lips as they surround the straw. The way the column of her throat undulates with her swallow. How demurely she licks her lips to savor the taste after she releases the straw.
She’s so damn alluring.
Lila has enchanted me for years.
It’d be so much easier to leave her in my past if it were only her body that I desired. Regrettably, the physical connection only scratches the surface of my obsession.
I wish I could put my finger on what specifically I find so magnetic about her. Why can’t I stay away?
I used to think it was her happiness that drew me in. Like a moth to a flame, maybe her lightness was bright enough to cancel out my onyx existence. In that case, it’d be natural to want to linger in her orbit. To feel Lila’s warmth on my skin. And under it.
Given I’ve been damaged goods since I was a young boy, I figured her vibrancy was the yin to my yang.
It isn’t, though.
As time went on, I began to see the inky streaks under that shiny facade. Lila isn’t as happy as she pretends to be. It’s all an act.
In fact, I don’t think she’s happy at all.
Deep down, she’s damaged too.
Despite that realization, I still long to be near her. I always have. It’s an aching hunger I can’t satisfy with anything else. Fuck knows I’ve tried—with gambling, women, and booze. Nothing worked. Not even burying myself in my job kept me away from her for long.
Ironically, my job is forcing me closer now.
Lila taps my thigh twice, just above my knee, recapturing my wayward attention. “This is a much better ending to the day than I was having before you broke into my house again.” She grins to soften the dig.
“Oh, that reminds me.” I adjust my position to get closer to her intentionally. “You looked like you were crying when I got there.” She grimaces, so I add, “Please tell me why you were upset.”
“I did tell you,” she lies.
Frowning, I sharpen my gaze. “No, you didn’t.”
Her eyes flick to the golf green, but mine stay locked on her profile. There’s a bob in her throat as she decides whether to answer me with honesty or with more of her utter nonsense. As much as I want the truth, I’m also curious to see what gibberish will come out of her mouth.
“Well, um.” She nibbles her lower lip, then finally meets my stare. “I said the birds were missing. That was true.”
“So that wasn’t one of your distraction things?”
“It wasn’t,” she admits.
“What birds?”
“Neighborhood peafowl. They’re sort of a free-range family that lives in our complex. I feed them every day. And the last few days, there’s been no sign of them.”
“Peafowl?” I crick my head to one side as I realize what she’s saying. “Like peacocks?”
“Yes. Peacocks are the males, and peahens are the female. Together, they’re peafowl.”
My grin grows the more she talks. I can’t hold it back.
Lila and her birds. I should’ve known. I suppose her daily bird feeding explains the giant bag of seeds she was carrying the other night.
“Mine are Indian Peafowls. The males have the blue plumage with an iridescent green tint. They’re the ones people picture when they think of a peacock.” She grimaces. “Well, technically, they aren’t mine. Although I wish they were.”
“Thanks, Professor Kent. Looks like I learned something ornithological today.” My grin fades when I remember why I was asking. “And you were crying because they’re missing?”
She shifts away from me, spine stiffening and pressing into the seat back. Then her arms cross at her chest defensively. “Never mind.”
Shit.
“Lila, I’m not mocking you. I’m only asking to make sure I understand what happened to upset you.”
So I can fix it, even if she never knows that.
“You mean it? You aren’t about to make fun of me for crying about birds?”
I shake my head and hold up one hand, palm out. “I swear. I wouldn’t do that.”
She lets her arms slide onto her lap. “Yeah, so I had just finished exercising and was filling up my water. From the kitchen window, I saw the lesser adjutant next door using a broom to back two peahens into a cage in his backyard.”
I stick out my hand to pause her story. “The what next door?”
“Oh.” She cups her mouth with both hands as if she’s trying to shove the words back where they came from.
I wait patiently, my eyes wide with curiosity. And I’ll wait all damn night to hear this explanation if needed. I can already tell it’s gonna be a doozy.
She lets her shoulders droop. In a near whisper, she says, “That’s what I call my neighbor.
I usually don’t say it out loud.” She motions to the top of her head and stammers through an explanation.
“He’s bald and ugly like a lesser adjutant.
That’s a kind of stork from Thailand. They’re hideous.
And my neighbor is hideous, inside and out.
The name just fits. I know I shouldn’t call him that. But he’s not a good guy.”
The more she talks, the more I have to quash my laughter. But her sincere concern over what she said about her neighbor has my mind reeling.
If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I’d have sworn that her sunshiny girl next door veneer was nothing but a mask to hide her true character.
Then she goes and does something like this, where she genuinely feels bad for calling her dick bag neighbor an ugly bird name.
It leaves me wondering whether she is truly as good as I initially thought she was.
Is it possible she’s not a snake in pretty grass?
Or could she be both? Are they mutually exclusive?
More to the point, if she’s really this worried about insulting her neighbor via the lesser bald bird, whatever she called it, could she be involved in something criminal? That doesn’t seem possible.
Maybe I’ve been wrong about her this entire time.
Hope—that pesky emotion I thought I’d banished permanently—pokes around in the back of my mind.
While I’ve been lost in deep musings, Lila pulled out her phone. “Here. Let me show you a picture so you can visualize this.”
Intrigued, I lean closer. “Picture of your neighbor or the ugly bird?”
“The bird, you dingle dork.”
When she shows me the picture on her phone, my reaction springs out of me. And it’s as loud as the frat boy dickwads behind us were earlier.
Cracking up in hysterics, I force out, “Fuck, Lila. That’s hilarious.”
We laugh together for a spell. When I can finally speak again, I joke, “If you call people shit like that, I’m glad I got away with Mr. Dirty Dimples.”
Her returning smile is effervescent, shining so much light I’m tempted to reach for my sunglasses. “Well, that’s only one of the things I call you.”
“Oh, do tell, Ms. Kent.”
She mimes zipping her lips closed. “Some secrets I’ll take to the grave.”
Comfortable silence falls between us before I prompt her to return to the story. “Let’s see. What were we talking about? Your neighbor, the ugly bird, was doing what in his backyard?”
Her easy smile retreats quickly, which makes me regret the subject change. At the same time, I want to know what made her cry earlier and is clearly still bothering her.
“Well, I caught him backing the peahens into a cage.”
The dots connect in my mind. “That’s where the birds have gone. He’s been trapping them, huh?”
Her face crumples as her tears threaten to return. “Yes.”
I slide close and throw my arm over her shoulder, yearning to comfort her. “So you saw this, ran out the door, and confronted him or what?”
She leans into me, releasing a resigned sigh. “I tried to, but I can’t get into his backyard since it’s fenced in. I hollered at him to come and talk to me about it. Of course, he just threatened to call the cops if I didn’t get off his property. Like I’m the bad guy in this situation.”
I’m not up to date on Florida law regarding catching wild birds, but I will be soon. That’s for damn sure.
If I can fix this for Lila, it’ll make her trust me.
For the case.
Mentally, I wait for Morgan Freeman to appear. It only takes a second.
Much to my dismay, our hero is at it again, folks. But we all know why he really cares about Lila’s birds, don’t we? Perhaps he’ll figure it out soon enough.
I will most definitely be ignoring my arrogant and totally incorrect conscience.
Much like I’m ignoring the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach as Lila pouts about the birds and how it makes me want to destroy any person who ever makes her feel this way again. Because none of that is happening right now.
Nothing to see here, folks. Just an FBI agent, who’s absolutely not aching to haul Lila’s neighbor to jail for bird crimes, which may or may not be illegal.
Good thing we’re outside, considering all the bullshit our hero is spewing.
After Lila’s soaked up as much of my comfort as needed, she changes the subject. “Is that older guy from the casino your partner? Did you sic him on me?”
“We don’t have partners, technically. But essentially, it’s the same thing. Just not like a permanent assignment.”
She lowers her head, reminding me of her second question.
“And no, I did not sic him on you. He figured it might be worth asking you if you recognized our suspect. We were already there interviewing your coworker, anyhow.”
Almost instantly, I’m overcome with an aching need to put some physical distance between us for where this conversation might be heading. Gently, I release my hold of her and scoot a few inches away.