Chapter 17
Fallon
Iwake up, not sure how I got under my covers. Nude from the waist up. Terror rushes through me, and I reach for the baseball bat I keep under the bed.
“Kosta?” I call out, eyes scanning the entire apartment.
I’m glad it’s one room. No one can hide somewhere and jump out to hurt me.
Like a sharp gust of wind, it all comes back to me.
The man in Rhys’s apartment with a large knife. Rhys killing him. The coppery stench clinging to the back of my throat, like pennies shoved in my mouth.
That part keeps snagging in my mind. Rhys standing over the body and making eye contact with me. The way he looked at me.
A knock on the apartment door startles me.
“One second,” I call out and scramble out of bed.
I don’t get a few steps before I realize I have to put clothes on.
“Fallon,” Rhys calls out from the hall. “Are you all right?”
“Right as rain,” I say, going through the stacked drawers in my walk-in closet. “Good as gold.” After sniffing my armpits, I add, “Fresh as a daisy.”
‘I miss Daisy,’ Fern says, swinging from the ceiling.
“She was here for two days,” I say, not telling her that she wilted and ended up in the compost tractor like most cut flowers.
Or that they were from Kosta with a threatening note: Marry me or you’ll be pushing up daisies.
“Fallon, is someone in there with you?”
I throw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that says Talk dirt to me. “No one. I’m coming.”
“By that, you better mean answering the door,” he says in a low, flirty voice.
I can’t respond as I have to count as I twist the lock three times, unlocked/locked, unlocked/locked, unlocked/locked, and then a final spin. The door whooshes open, and Rhys stands there looking like he hasn’t slept.
He’s in a pair of jeans, a New York Yankees T-shirt, and a baseball cap. “Can I come in?”
I slap his chest. “Of course. You’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to ask.”
Rhys grips my arms. “Yes, I do. Any man at this door must ask to come in. You don’t let anyone in this place unless it’s your choice. Do you understand me?”
“Okay,” I say, startled by his fervor.
When he sees my eyes, he backs off. “Just because I’m your boyfriend doesn’t mean I can come in here anytime I want. You have to grant me permission, okay, Fallon? Promise me.”
I think about that and nod. “I promise.”
“Good…girl,” he says, his eyes scanning my T-shirt. “Talk dirt to me?”
I pull at the hem. “Yeah, I have a ton of these. You’d be surprised at all the ads you see on Facebook once you buy gardening gloves and seeds.”
“I bet.”
I pad into the sleeping alcove and take out a few more. “Here are some others. Plant one on me. Thyme for Love. Water me, Daddy. I dig you. Grow old with me.” I wait for a chuckle, but Rhys just stares at me.
“Are you all right?” he asks, looking concerned.
“Of course. I—” I stop, recognizing the manic tangent. “I get a little excited. That’s what this pill is for.” I reach for a bottle and open it. “Daddy said men don’t like it when I get excited.”
Rhys grabs the bottle from me with one hand and pulls me in with the other. “I can handle excited.”
“Oh…”
We stare until he lets me go. “Did you sleep all right?”
“I did.” I wonder why he’s asking me, and then I remember I took one of the sleeping pills.
“Good.”
We stare again, and I say, “You didn’t sleep here last night, did you?”
Going pale, he says, “No. Was someone else here?”
“No.” I press on his chest, thrilled at the warm skin and plump muscles. “I woke up and… Never mind. Did you get rid of that body?”
“Christ,” he mutters. “You remembered that?”
“Oh yeah.” I turn to go into my kitchen. “Tea?”
“No, thank you,” Rhys grunts. “Do you remember everything that happened last night?”
Counting scoops of leaves for the infuser, I stop. “Of course. I don’t see a guy get killed every day.”
Rhys looks at me like I’m insane. Which I’m not. I was diagnosed with ADHD in high school, and a doctor put me on all this medication that caused depression and blackouts.
“Fallon?” Rhys gently shakes me, spilling the tea.
‘Blasphemy!’ Basil says. ‘Have some respect. Those leaves come from our family!’
I look Basil’s way and run a finger across my neck. Cut it.
“Shite, I’m sorry. Let me make your tea.”
“I got it.” I clean up the spill and then start over with fresh leaves. “You were saying?”
“Let’s talk.” He steers me to the sofa, and after sitting me down, he paces.
“You seem very nervous,” I tell him. “If you don’t want tea, I have—”
“Fallon!” Rhys snaps. “You can’t tell anyone what you saw last night.”
I reach for Basil and hold him against my chest.
‘What happened last night?’ the nosey little guy asks.
I clear my throat and give one his leaves a tough squeeze.
‘Ouch!’
“If you do, it won’t just hurt me,” Rhys continues like I have to be convinced.
But I let him talk because I love his accent.
“It’ll hurt my family.” His jaw ticks. “The man who broke into my flat tried to hurt me. He would have hurt you. Like…really hurt you, Fal. He might have even kidnapped you.”
“Kidnapped me?”
“The man is part of a gang.” He stares down at me.
Like Kosta.
That name and the bad things he does punch something cold and sharp through my chest.
“Do they hurt women?” I ask.
“Probably.”
I shudder at the thought of Kosta and those faceless men he goes everywhere with, hurting women. I wonder if he’s in the same gang. My mind drifts off, but Rhys’s urgent voice brings me back.
“Fallon, do you promise to keep what happened our secret?”
“Secret?” I say, my voice pitched.
‘Couples keep each other’s secrets. It’s romantic,’ Ivy swoons.
I stay silent, getting my thoughts under control. I need to be strong. But last night and the horrible things I saw burn in my mind. I stroke my cheek three times to swipe away the memory.
Rhys watches me for a long moment. When I don’t speak, his shoulders slump.
“Okay,” he says, voice suddenly colder. “What do you want?”
I blink, once, twice, three times. “Want?”
“For your silence.”
“Oh.” I look down at Basil.
‘Make him switch apartments with you!’ Basil crows, like we’re living in a sitcom and it’s the obvious thing to ask for.
I purse my lips to shush him.
Something melts the fog in my brain. Rhys thinks he has to buy my silence. I’m about to tell him that I don’t want anything,
Hang on…
My eyes drift unmoored to the holiday calendar plastered on the whiteboard. All the color-coded boxes. All the little stickers marking the coming season.
Fern’s voice, crisp as a whistle, says, ‘Ask him to be your date this year.’
My lips curve into a smile as I thrust Basil into Rhys’s arms and jump up. “You can come with me to all my events,” I announce.
“Events?” he echoes warily. “What events? Where?” His gaze snags on the calendar, and then the blood drains from his face.
A gun he can handle, cool as ice. But a cookie exchange makes him sweat. Okay, last year was pretty intense. The exchange turned into a baking contest judged by someone who once won an episode of Cupcake Wars.
Rhys slowly rises and crosses the room like he’s approaching an active minefield. His gaze drifts over the dates and my messy scribbles, his expression tightening as he takes it all in.
I twirl, already picturing us in matching earmuffs and scarves for caroling night.