Chapter Thirty #2
He heard the distinctive beep of a passcode being entered outside the door, so he looked up. A second later, Archer walked in.
“Hey. I figured you’d be at home by now,” Archer said as he walked toward him.
I might be if I had a home.
“Just wanted to finish up a few things.” Atticus leaned back. “What brought you back?”
“Same. Figured I could do some research while it was quiet.”
It was definitely quiet.
Archer pulled out his chair to sit. “I meant to ask earlier, have you heard anything on the case Luca and Slade are workin’ on? Do you think they might be back in the office tomorrow?”
“I haven’t, no,” he said.
“Thought maybe Slade would give you an update.”
“We’re kinda at odds right now,” he muttered. “Apparently, buyin’ your partner drinks equates to a night of cheating.”
Archer went still beside him. “Oh, shit. Man, I’m sorry. I hope you cleared it up for him.”
Atticus snorted. “Clear as mud.”
“If it’ll help, I’ll be happy to tell him we were just talking.”
Looking up, Atticus sighed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Slade kicked me out of the house.”
“Shit.” Archer turned toward him. “What about … sorry, I forgot the other guy’s name.”
“Carson?”
“Yeah. What about him? Y’all working it out?”
“No,” he said, although he wasn’t sure of anything when it came to Carson. According to Slade, that was over, too. And since he hadn’t heard from Carson all day—not even a response to the text message he’d sent a few hours ago—he was inclined to believe Slade.
What bothered Atticus the most about the whole situation was the fact that he honestly didn’t care that it had burned to the ground.
He knew he should feel something. Anger, sadness, confusion.
Something other than resignation and a strong desire to move on with his life.
The end of a relationship shouldn’t be like that, should it?
“If there’s anything I can do…”
“Yeah. Thanks. I’m over it. Movin’ on.”
Archer nodded and turned back to his computer. Atticus did the same, wanting to keep busy so his thoughts wouldn’t stray to unimportant shit.
“You have a place to stay?” Archer asked after a few minutes.
“I was gonna find a motel nearby.”
“What about the B and B? They’ve got a few rooms right now. According to Bristol, there’s a lull until the end of the month.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Atticus honestly didn’t care where he slept.
A bed was a bed as far as he was concerned.
Hell, the couch only a few feet away would suffice for a few nights.
Provided Brantley and Reese didn’t get wind of his wandering ways.
They had originally insisted that he put down roots rather than remain a nomad who spent his nights in motels.
And, unlike his joking with JJ, his savings account was growing by leaps and bounds. Which meant he had no excuses.
Thankfully, Archer didn’t push the matter, which allowed Atticus to focus on putting together a final update for the day. He had read what Archer sent out last night and wanted to expand on that to keep the team apprised while they worked this case.
“Were you able to find out anything about Terry Berry?” Atticus asked Archer. “And seriously? Who names their kid that?”
“Would you believe it if I said Mary Berry?”
Atticus stared at him, stunned. “Nuh-uh.”
“His parents are Mary and Terry Berry, Senior.”
“No shit.”
Archer chuckled. “No shit. As for Junior, he’s an ex-sheriff’s deputy out of Blanco County. From what I can tell, he joined Censorious in the late nineties while he was still on the force. When he retired, he sought a higher role in the organization.”
“Or maybe that higher role was the reason he retired,” Atticus pondered.
“Good point. Possibly. Anyway, he’s now second in command under Calloway. He owns about two hundred acres in Blanco, which is roughly fifteen miles south of Johnson City.”
“And Johnson City is in Blanco County?”
“It is. Which may be why Calloway is out that way.”
“Berry would know the area, having worked for the sheriff’s department.”
“More than likely.”
Atticus pulled up a map to get a better feel for the area. He studied it for a few minutes, noting the route they’d taken to get to the house where Brantley believed Kylie had been kept.
“Do you think it’s a coincidence that Rocky Road goes from 290 in Johnson City down to 281 in Blanco?” Shaking his head, Atticus grinned. “Rocky Road. It just keeps gettin’ better.”
Archer rolled his chair over to look at his screen. Atticus dragged his finger along the route he was referring to.
“What if they moved her that direction?” Atticus asked. “They realized their hidey hole was compromised, so they packed her up and moved her.”
When Atticus looked up, he realized his face was inches from Archer’s. His breath caught in his lungs, but he blamed it on surprise. He hadn’t realized the guy was that close.
Or that he smelled that good.
Fuck.
“We should call Brantley,” Atticus suggested, pushing his chair back and launching to his feet.
Archer returned to his desk. “Why don’t we take a drive down there? Brantley and Reese were driving all day. We can head down, see what we can see—which likely won’t be much at night—then we can call them if it’s something worth looking into.”
“Okay,” he heard himself say, forcing his heart rate to slow.
“You good to drive? Or you want me to?”
“I’ll drive.” That was the only way he’d be able to resist looking at the man.
Just old habits that haven’t died, he told himself as he headed for the door. You’re not attracted to Archer. You just think he’s the easiest way to move on from Slade and Carson.
Yeah. That was all it was. And no one liked a rebound, least of all a work partner.
And seriously. He’d have to be insane to even consider someone like Archer Halligan. The guy was … he was … fuck.
He was hot.
And smart.
And kind.
And generous.
And the guy fucking loved dogs.
Okay. There. Maybe that could be one for the con column. Atticus didn’t like dogs. Only Tesha, but she didn’t count. And maybe some of the nicer ones at Camp K-9. But that was all.
“You ready?”
Atticus jumped, surprised.
“Relax,” Archer said, gripping Atticus’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “It’s all good.”
Is it though? Atticus thought as he watched Archer walk toward the door.
It took them nearly two hours to get to Blanco thanks to late evening traffic, but they made it. The trip had been… Well, awkward would be a good word for it.
Archer wasn’t sure what he’d done to put Atticus on edge, but the man had spent the majority of the drive turning up the radio each time Archer attempted to make conversation.
It didn’t matter how many times he turned it back down, Atticus continued to inch it higher and higher until talking became impossible. Which was clearly his plan.
So he’d spent that time staring out the window, admiring what was known as the Texas Hill Country.
It was definitely more interesting than the flat land that could be seen between Dallas and Austin.
Hills and valleys, creeks and rivers made up the landscape.
And when it got too dark to admire anything, Archer had stared straight ahead, attempting to come up with something to say that might put Atticus at ease.
Unfortunately, he kept coming up empty.
Finally, they passed a sign that told them their destination was only a few miles up the road.
“What’s your plan when we get there?” he asked, figuring it was an innocuous enough question.
Atticus didn’t look at him. “I have no idea.”
Alrighty then.
“I need to stop for gas,” Atticus said a few minutes later as they were nearing a Shell station.
“I’m gonna grab a drink. Want anything?” Archer offered.
“Dr. Pepper.”
While Atticus pumped gas, Archer went into the small food mart, which was attached to an even smaller Mexican food restaurant.
As was often the case, he felt people watching him as he perused the aisles of snacks and junk.
He knew the clerk was sizing him up because that was what people tended to do when a man his size walked through the door.
Immediately, they assumed they would need to defend themselves against him.
For the record, that rarely happened. And only when someone attacked him first.
He offered a hint of a smile as he made his way to the drink cooler at the back.
He grabbed a Dr. Pepper for Atticus and one for himself.
He tried to waste time, figuring Atticus appreciated the alone time.
When he felt like he was starting to look like a stalker, he paid for the drinks and walked outside.
Atticus was already in the truck, waiting.
Whose idea was this again?
“You good?” Archer asked as he climbed into the truck, passing a Dr. Pepper over.
Atticus took it and dropped it into the cup holder before putting the truck in gear.
Okay then.
A few minutes down the road, Atticus pulled over abruptly, coming to a stop in the parking lot of a small shopping center that was closed for the night. He threw the truck in park and sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” Atticus said, though it sounded like he was gargling broken glass.
“For what?”
“Bein’ a dick.”
Archer chuckled. “I didn’t notice.”
“And no, I’m not good,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Look, I get it. Breakups aren’t easy. I’m doing my best to give you space.”
Atticus’s head turned slowly, his eyes coming to rest on Archer’s face. “It has nothin’ to do with the breakup.”
“Oh.” Archer frowned. “Somethin’ else wrong?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows lifted, a silent signal to Atticus that he could continue without being verbally prompted.
“You,” Atticus blurted.
“Me?” Archer was really confused. “What the hell did I do?”
“Nothing.”
He stared, not understanding. “I did nothing? Meaning I’m not carryin’ my weight or…?”
“No, of course you are.” Atticus’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he turned his attention forward, staring out the window.
“I don’t mean to be obtuse, but I’m lost here, Atticus.”