Chapter 11
11
Davis
I don’t need to see who’s climbing out of the Audi to know I’m not going to like it.
First, very few people in Shipwreck drive Audis.
Second, even fewer would drive across town for this. Most would walk.
With snacks and drinks.
Bet even Tillie Jean’s walking. Even if she wasn’t mayor, she’s one of Sloane’s tightest friends.
But this car?
This car holds a dude.
A tall, built, thinks-he’s-a-god dude.
“Sloane? What the hell’s going on here?”
She flinches beside me. “Hello, Nigel.”
I scoot closer to her and slip an arm around her.
Gotta play the part.
Ignore the zing racing over my skin from touching her.
Not real.
This is adrenaline, and the wedding is a favor.
Nigel stalks up her front walk. “What happened?”
I hate the concern in his voice.
It almost sounds sincere.
Don’t mind that the streetlight flickering on illuminates a couple sparkles of glitter still in his hair though.
Sloane huddles closer to me. “Small break-in. It’s fine.”
“You had a break-in and you think it’s fine ? What the hell’s wrong with this town? You’re not safe here. We’re leaving. Now.”
Peggy the cat yowls while I make myself stay still. “She’ll decide for herself what she wants and needs.”
“She needs people who’ve known her forever, not you stupid asshat musicians.”
I would enjoy the shit out of putting a fist through this guy’s face.
Peggy yowls louder.
“Shh,” Sloane whispers. “It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s okay.”
“Now, now, let’s not get name-cally,” Chester says. “Everyone here’s good people.”
“Sloane. It’s time to go somewhere safe,” Nigel says.
I look at the woman I’m pretending to be engaged to. “Sloane, you want to go with him?”
“No, thank you.”
I look back at the fucker.
Don’t say anything.
Just look at him.
He has me by a few inches. Definitely by fifty or so pounds too.
But he’s mistaken if he thinks that means he can force his way through me to get to her.
Don’t mistake muscle for strength.
“Don’t be stubborn, Sloane.” Fucker sounds bored now. “The sooner you accept what’s best?—”
“For who?” I interrupt.
His eyes flicker to me in the dim light. He leans toward Sloane, and I rise and get in his way.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m here to take care of my…friend.”
“Where were you all day today?”
He lifts himself to his full height and glares down at me. “I don’t like your tone.”
He’s smart there, at least.
And I don’t think he did this. I just want him to think I think he did this.
Don’t be a dick , I tell myself.
And then I tell myself to fuck off.
I’ll be whatever Sloane needs me to be.
“Now, gentlemen.” Chester shoots a quick look at me before focusing on Nigel again. “Crime can make tempers run high, but we’re all on the same team here.”
Sloane snorts softly.
So does her cat.
“We are not on the same team,” Nigel says.
“Who’s that now?” Mrs. Kapinski calls from next door. “Is that that hottie who crashed Cooper’s wedding?”
Sloane sighs.
The cat meows loudly.
And Nigel puffs his chest up. “I was blessed by God, ma’am.”
“In all the ways?” she calls back. “How big is your penis?”
He visibly chokes. “Excuse you, ma’am?—”
“Welp, that’s disappointing. If you’re not willing to answer the question, we know what that means.”
“Sloane, this town?—”
“Is my home,” she says quietly.
“Davis, how’s your penis?” Mrs. Kapinski calls.
Do not answer. Do not answer. Do not— “Formally classified as a biological weapon, ma’am.”
Silence falls over the street.
Silence except for a very small squeak coming from Sloane’s direction, and the sound of quick footsteps rushing toward us on the street.
“Mrs. Kapinski, the tabloid rules are still firmly in effect, and I will quadruple your punishment if you leak that to the press,” Tillie Jean says. “Go back inside. All of you. Chester, what’s going on? Where’s the crime scene tape? Why haven’t you put that up yet? Excuse me, sir, you need to be at least fifty feet from the house.”
Nigel glares at Tillie Jean.
“Wouldn’t challenge her if I were you,” I murmur.
“Shut your fucking face,” Nigel snaps back.
“You sure you’re a man of God?”
Remarkable how little it takes to make someone’s temper blow.
Good thing Chester’s apparently well-trained too because the minute Nigel swings at me, Chester’s in motion.
I let the two of them tussle it out while I back up and hold out a hand to Sloane. “We should also get away from the crime scene.”
She gapes at me. “ Oh my god , how did you duck that?”
“Just did.”
“It’s like you didn’t even move. Did you teleport? Did you teleport yourself away from his fist? Oh my god, are you okay?”
My biological weapon isn’t the only part of me enjoying her being impressed, and I need to tamp that down. “Martial arts are good for anger management.”
She stares at me for a brief moment longer, then she’s on her feet, glaring at her…whatever he is. “ What the hell , Nigel? We don’t hit people .”
He grunts from the ground, where Chester has him pinned. “Watch your language.”
“You watch your fucking language,” she fires back. “ Don’t punch my fiancé . Do you want to be uninvited from the wedding?”
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
“He’s not wrong,” I tell Sloane.
“God, he’s so swoony,” Chester says. Then he grunts as Nigel twists under him. “ Stay still . I’ll get my taser out if I think you’re gonna try to punch someone again. Mr. Remington’s right. I’m gonna need to know where you were all day today.”
Peggy meows loudly.
And Tillie Jean crushes Sloane and the cat both with a hug. “You okay?”
Sloane’s muffled no makes my heart crack in two.
“What do you need?” TJ asks her quietly.
It’s what I should be asking, but instead, I issued orders.
Same as fucking Nigel .
“To wake up from this nightmare?” Sloane whispers.
Tillie Jean shoots me a look while she hugs Sloane tighter.
That look could mean any number of things.
Is this your fault?
Are you doing anything about it?
How will you fix this?
Can you keep her safe?
Do you want me to tell Chester to accidentally knee Nigel in the gonads?
If you’re going to be her pretend fiancé, you damn well better take good care of her .
There’s one appropriate response regardless of what Tillie Jean’s look means.
I nod.
I’ve got Sloane.
I won’t let anything happen to her.
Anything else .
I won’t let anything else happen to her.
We have to find the fucking treasure. I have to find the fucking blond caveman. And I have to make sure Nigel knows that Sloane is completely off-limits. Not just starting Saturday, at our wedding, but from this moment on.
Fake.
Fake wedding.
I meant to think fake wedding .
Shit .
“Get off of me, you buffoon. Do you know who I am?” Nigel says.
“Nobody punches former Bro Code members in my town and gets away with it,” Chester replies.
“I didn’t punch him. I scared him.”
“You didn’t do either,” Chester says. “He dodged you like he’s the wind, and the only person any of us are afraid of in this town is Tillie Jean.”
“He’s mistreating my fiancée.”
“Uh, last I heard, he’s her fiancé.”
“But he might not be the only one!” Mrs. Kapinski calls.
Sloane sighs.
Tillie Jean sighs.
I stifle a sigh.
“Chester, what do you need from Sloane?” Tillie Jean says.
“Just her statement.”
“Great. Get off the hot preacher dude and come take her statement so she and Davis can go home and rest.”
There’s no mistaking the look Tillie Jean gives me now.
It’s you’re fucking lucky I’m willing to keep up this ruse, or I’d be taking Sloane home to my house right now .
“Peggy,” Sloane whispers.
“Got everything she needs,” I tell her.
And I will.
Just need to send one quick text message.
“You heard her,” Nigel says. “ Get the fuck off me .”
“Your language is atrocious, Nigel,” Sloane says. “Maybe try saying please so that Chester knows you’re not going to try to take out my fiancé again.”
“He started it.”
“Do you know what’s sexy, Nigel? Taking responsibility is sexy.”
I’ve spent fifteen years practicing daily meditation. Impulse control. Mind over body.
And a redheaded nurse whom I barely know saying responsibility is sexy has me completely losing my shit.
Internally.
And in my biological weapon.
Because all my brain sees are those dildos and vibrators scattered all over Sloane’s bedroom while I kneel in front of her and tell her everything I’ve ever taken responsibility for in my life.
“I think you might have to sit on him for a while so I can go take their statements,” Chester says to Tillie Jean.
“Ew. I’m not touching him,” she replies. “Let me call Max.”
“Get off me,” Nigel says again.
“Let him go,” Sloane says. “If he tries to hurt Davis again, I’ll take him down myself.”
Chester and Tillie Jean share a look.
Tillie Jean grins.
Chester shrugs, then lets Nigel go.
Nigel climbs to his feet, glaring at all of us. “Sloane. Let’s go .”
She heaves another sigh. “If you want to be helpful, Nigel, you can go find a cat carrier for Peggy. I can’t go back in my house to get any of my things, because it’s a fucking crime scene, and I can’t transport my cat without a cat carrier.”
Nigel stares at Sloane.
Then he looks at me. “Go get Sloane a cat carrier.”
I don’t reply.
Not worth the breath.
Instead, I slip my arm around Sloane. “Chester. Can we give you statements from Tillie Jean’s house?”
He looks at me, and even lit only by the glow of houselights and headlights, I can see him going red again.
He answers me by speaking to Sloane. “That’s a really good idea. Sloane, you two head over to Tillie Jean’s house.” He points down the street. “Backup’s here. I’ll have one of them give you a ride. Stay close. We’ll have some questions.”
Nigel takes a step toward Sloane.
The cat hisses, and Nigel leaps back.
“This is not the way,” Sloane says quietly to him.
His jaw muscles tic while he stares at her.
He probably knows.
He knows he’s losing her. Might even be realizing he never had her in the first place.
And that makes him one more loose thread in her life that needs to be tied up.
Tomorrow problem.
Or Saturday problem.
At the moment, though, getting Sloane and her cat out of the rapidly cooling night air and away from her house is what matters most.