Chapter Two #4
It was an old trick, one that came from living—and working—side-by-side for so many years.
You couldn't pull off the shit we'd pulled off for so long without getting caught—and locked up for a decade or two—without being able to think on the same wavelength, know what the others' next move would be.
"And are you sure your place would be secure enough without you there?
" If the guys knew what door she had hidden behind, likely not.
Especially since Padfoot was the world's worst security dog.
"And why haven't you called the Mallicks in on this?
" he asked, shooting me an accusatory glance.
Our sister Scotti's, in-laws would be all over this if I gave them any information, instead of the gentle probe I had sent off via text asking for any updates on new players in town that they likely attributed to one of my other clients.
"Is it maybe because you know they would charge in and take over, and you want to keep Savvs all to yourself? "
"Alright, eno..." My words cut off to the sound of Savea letting out a shrill squeaking sound, making both of us jump, turn, and make our way out of the office at the same time.
Charging through the store, my heart skipped into overdrive thinking of them coming back, getting her, dragging her out to a car before I could save her.
"What's the matter?" Nixon asked when we found her, by herself, safe, holding the top of an aquarium outstretched, eyes saucers.
"She knows I hate her," she declared, taking a slow, deep breath. "And she is holding it against me."
"Who hates you?" I asked, moving closer, ducking down to look into the seemingly empty aquarium.
"The beady-eyed abomination of nature and all things good and sweet and fluffy," she informed me, making a chuckle move through me despite the clear fear keeping her body stiff.
"Sweetheart, there's nothing in the tank," I told her after another glance.
"What!" she shrieked, tossing the top of the aquarium toward Nixon, who had good enough reflexes to snag it before it hit the ground as she frantically rubbed her hands over herself. Then, spinning in a circle, "Is she on me? Oh, God. I can feel her all over me."
"I'm thinking the beady-eyed freak is some sort of bug," Nixon surmised as my hands moved out, grabbing her shoulders, stilling her.
"Nothing is on you. Take a breath. What is it?"
"A tarantula," she explained, casting glances around the floor, over my body, like the thing might have leaped on me without me feeling it.
"You've worked here since you were a kid, and a spider is freaking you out?" Nixon asked, placing the top down on the other aquariums, ducking down to try to find the missing eight-legged creature. "There she is," he said, reaching out toward it.
"Careful of her belly spears!"
"Okay, you're fucking with me, right?" Nixon asked as he grabbed the tarantula by the back, lifting her in the air. "It's a spider."
"They have spiky hair on their bellies and if they're scared, they rub them on their legs and shoot them at what they're scared of."
"And I'm sure that would be terrifying if I were a grasshopper," Nixon said with a slight eye roll before dropping the tarantula back into her enclosure. "Does it need anything else?"
"Just drop some of those grasshoppers in with her," Savea explained, happy to delegate the task. Her hands were still running up and down her arms like she felt the hairy legs crawling on her. "Did you guys find anything?"
"Not much," I admitted, wanting to sugarcoat it, but knowing it wasn't fair to her. "I am going to do some digging after we get some of your stuff. Are you almost done?"
"Yeah, I always save that hellbeast for last. I just need to put the boarding animals away."
Twenty minutes later, we were pulling down a private dirt road that must have been hell in the ice and snow all winter. Which was likely why she spent so much time holed up at her friend's places instead of her own.
"This is a big piece of land," Nixon said, looking at the low, mostly cleared lot that was lined by a crumbling post-and-rail fence. "Is there even a house here, or just that shed?"
"That shed is my house," Savea supplied, not seeming the least bit offended because, well, it did look like a shed.
There was a short, rectangular building that sprouted up to a single gable, with a peeling roof.
The siding, at one time, had likely been white, but had taken on a hue of green.
There was a front porch with crumbling brick and an overhang, the perfect place to sit and watch a storm or relax after work.
Or it would be. With some work. Okay, with a lot of work.
"This is my grandfather's little farm. It fell into disrepair while he was still around.
And then I took it over and, well, there is never enough time to work on it.
But I want to someday. Restore it. Make it, you know, habitable again," she said with a smile before my hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back into her seat when she tried to get out.
"Let me go in and look around first," I told her, giving her wrist a soft squeeze. "Stay here with Nixon."
The front porch crunched underfoot. The front door squealed as it opened. The lock took jiggling to disengage with Savvy's keys. The floorboards inside were nice, wide, in need of a finish, but charming with their thick nail heads, their scratches and dents speaking to generations of use.
The roof was leaking, evidenced by the pots and buckets situated here and there. The walls needed skimming and painting. The majority of the furniture looked like it came with the house—old, worn, but clean.
There were touches of Savea around, though.
Shoes by the door, a pink hoodie laying over the arm of the couch, a paw print neon umbrella in a stand, a collection of different print-out mock-ups for flyers she was clearly trying to work on for the store.
The kitchen was small and dark, the cabinets without any character, the countertops tiled, the grout in between chipped thanks to endless scrubbings, the linoleum floor so old that there was no longer any original color left to them.
Beyond the kitchen was a hall with a bathroom that was straight out of the fifties with a lime green tub, sink, and matching toilet.
Beyond the bathroom was the last place in the house, Savea's bedroom. The same floor, walls, a metal twin-sized bed covered in girly pink blankets. The sliding closet door had fallen off its track, was sitting propped up against the wall, displaying all its contents.
As a whole, Savea was a jeans or leggings girl with some sort of oversized shirt on top. Because it was practical with work. But her closet boasted dozens of dresses for every possible occasion, high heels, different purses.
I had a sudden, strong, desperate need to see her in one of the dresses. Preferable the slinky black one that looked like it would just barely cover her ass.
Shaking my head, I moved back through the house, waving them in, feeling a bit like a creep for snooping even if she had done some snooping at my place as well.
"Is that really necessary?" she asked a few minutes later as I reached for the oversized black suitcase on the top shelf of her closet.
"This way you can pack anything into it. Your electronics, books, anything. Your days are gonna be a bit long without going into work," I added.
"I will have Padfoot to keep me company," she declared. "And I have like... over a decade of TV I could catch up on. Where did Nixon go?"
"Emptying out your buckets. I think we have more rain coming in tonight. This way we can save the floors."
"You guys have been too good," she decided, shaking her head as if she didn't think she was worth all the trouble.
"I will make it up to you somehow. And I'll cook.
And make your favorite dessert. What is it?
" she asked, frowning, like it bothered her that she didn't already know the answer to that.
"Brownies. Fudgy."
"Fudgy brownies. Got it. Consider it done. And I'll take the couch."
"No."
"Then we will take turns with the bed."
"Also no."
"Come on. Be reasonable. I'm putting you out. And you are going to need a good night's sleep. It's not fair for me to hog the bed."
"Savvy, it's fine," I told her as she went to the dresser, grabbing two handfuls of lacy things I tried not to think too hard about, shoving them under her pile of clothes.
"We can share it," she declared, turning back, eyes bright. "It's huge. I mean, I am used to a twin. A king is like two twins. It's plenty of room. If you won't let me take the couch, it is the only fair solution. Say yes."
To sharing a bed with her for the indefinite future?
Everything within me said it was a terrible idea.
If I wanted to maintain our distance.
If I didn't want things to get messy.
Why, then, did my voice completely disregard my head?
"Yes."