16. Thanatos
Chapter 16
Thanatos
Every heavy beat of my heart kicks like a bass drum, the cadence fast and hard, drowning out the thud of my feet on the pavement as I round the corner to Celia’s boutique. It’s midday but overcast, meaning that despite the hour, there shouldn’t be too many customers in the shop to notice my entrance. The bells jingle overhead as I swing open the front door, and not a single head turns my direction.
There’s no one here after all.
A giggle from the back of the shop catches my attention, and I make my way towards the sound. Hidden amidst rows and rows of neatly-organized boxes of supplies, a woman twirls a strand of her brunette hair in her finger while she talks to someone on the phone. “No, she isn’t here. It’s just me again. Yes, of course you can come hang out with m—” As my shadow falls over her, she turns and gasps. “Oh gosh, I gotta go.” Hanging up the call, she smiles up at me. “I’m sorry, sir, but this area is for employees only. Can I help you with something?”
This must be Sara, Celia’s employee. College student, undecided major, a sophomore. Originally from Kansas, but she moved in with her aunt to attend Harlin Heights’ community college at the outskirts of the city. Works part-time with Celia, although with how little Celia has been around, she may be working full-time hours.
None of that really matters, though it’s information I keep filed away for moments like these.
“Celia asked me to pick up a few things,” I lie easily, looking over Sara’s head to the decorative boxes lining the shelves. Leave it to Celia to avoid a simple metal rack and cardboard or plastic to store all of her materials—she had to go with professionally-labeled, floral print designs for every box on the custom, built-in wooden frame. Of course. I don’t actually know what Celia needs from here, but I make my best guess and reach for a box labeled color swatches—A-F. Do I need the entire alphabet?
“Oh, do you need the binder too?”
Sara turns around and grabs a thick binder. Inside, hundreds of fabric types and colors are neatly displayed with both a picture and a square of material. “Here you go! And her office is right over here.” She leads me to the room with a kind smile that tells me more than her portfolio ever could.
She’s way too trusting of strangers.
“So how do you know Celia?” Sara sticks around as I slide various items inside my backpack to bring back to the apartment. “Let me guess—” Sticking out her tongue, she hums while she looks me up and down. “Are you related to her boyfriend? A brother, or something? Maybe his dad?” She shakes her head with a laugh. “Man, you look familiar. Have you lived in the city for long, or are you visiting? Maybe we’ve met before.”
Damn, she’s talkative.
I open all four drawers in Celia’s desk, find little of interest, and look up to meet Sara’s curious stare. She’s got that lovestruck puppy look that shouldn’t be anywhere near me. I’m not interested in children half my age. But I understand that she’s infatuated with her boyfriend and likely seeing him everywhere—even in men like me. Something is bound to bring her thoughts right back to the man she’s falling in love with.
Maybe I need a new haircut.
“Does she have a laptop?” Celia has to do her bookkeeping online, right? And all of her orders, too? I scratch my neck while Sara flits around the room for a set of keys that opens the filing cabinet in the corner. “Shouldn’t you be working the front?” I ask, unimpressed by how poorly the girl is doing her job. “Are you the only one here?” I glance up at the ceiling, grateful to find a camera. At least Celia has a security system in place. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Sara is shorter than the murderer’s M.O., but easy access is easy access. She shouldn’t be alone, even while working.
“Oh, I’m okay! It hasn’t been as busy since Celia’s been on vacation.”
That isn’t comforting.
“You said that your boyfriend was coming over?” I zip up my bag and throw it over my back. I have enough stuff, I think, for Celia to pick through. I may have Rebel go to her house while I check the perimeter around the club— again —to make sure the area is secure. We’ve recruited a few of our best men to keep an eye on the street, but there are multiple abandoned buildings a few blocks away that I’d like to keep an eye on.
If my father is in hiding, he won’t be above squatting in a rat-den to stay alive.
“Oh, well I—uhh—I mean, he might?—”
“I won’t tell your boss,” I clarify, holding my hands up. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
Celia would freak out if anything happened to Sara because of our father’s obsession with her.
Then again, maybe she deserves it.
The thought sours in my mouth, and I swallow the bitter taste before it settles. There are a lot of things that I think Celia deserves—a hard reality check and an even harder spanking—but heart-wrenching guilt over her employee being brutally murdered?
Maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, even for me.
Sara smiles brightly. “Oh, okay. Then yeah, he’ll be here later today. He likes to bring me lunch and?—”
I tune her out. “That’s nice.” Walking past her to the back door, I check that it’s secure. One dead bolt is hardly break-in proof, so I quickly pull out my phone and put in an order for a second one to be installed. “I’m having a contractor come out to do some repairs today. How long will you be here?” While Sara rattles off her work schedule for the entire week, I save the details on a note in my phone and inform my guy to beef up the security at the front, too.
I’ll have to ask Rage if he’s tapped into the security system here, or maybe we should replace it with our own…
Interrupting Sara’s monologue, I give her shoulder a squeeze. “Stay safe, Sara. Lock all the doors when you’re alone—I mean it—and keep an eye on who comes into the shop.”
She blusters loudly, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. “You make it sound like there’s a murderer out there or something.”
“Or something,” I murmur, sighing. “Look, just be careful, okay? Do you have a gun beneath the counter?”
“We—” She looks up at me owlishly. “We have a panic button.”
Unholstering one of my pistols, I give her a basic run down of its mechanics, how to aim and fire, and slide it into her palm. “Keep that hidden, but close.”
“I don’t need a gun!” She cries, trying to give it back to me.
“You never do until it’s too late,” I counter, shoving the weapon against her chest. “Hold onto it. Does your boyfriend know how to shoot?”
“I—I don’t know.” Biting her lip, she holds the gun like it’s a bomb about to go off. I guess to her, it might be.
“Put it away,” I say again, “but don’t forget where you stash it. I’ll check in on you every few days.” With that, I step out into the afternoon gray, cold raindrops wetting my face.
What I should be doing instead of playing delivery boy is searching for my father. Running a hand down my face, I text Rebel to pick up supplies from Celia’s house and take my backpack to her.
REBEL
what r u gonna do?
There’s only one real answer.
Hunt.