10. Delaney
DELANEY
I don’t go home.
I sit in my car at the bottom of the Vexley drive, engine off, hands still on the wheel like I’m waiting for something to settle.
It doesn’t.
The house looms behind me, all stone and secrets carved into places no one is supposed to notice. I can still see it—the repetition of the symbol, the key hidden in the lines.
And him.
Samson Vexley.
I tighten my fingers on the steering wheel.
I should leave.
I should go home, lock my door, write up my notes, and put as much distance between me and Samson Vexley as possible.
Instead, my fingers drift to the inside of my wrist.
Where he touched me last night.
My pulse is quick and sharp, like my body remembers something that didn’t actually happen.
I exhale abruptly.
Enough.
I start the car, shift into drive, and pull out.
If I stay still, I’ll think.
Somehow, instead of driving home, I end up at the marina again. The sun has set, and I shouldn’t be here at this hour. I shouldn’t be here alone at night.
It’s the same stretch of dock. The water is darker, and it ripples from the cool breeze.
Last time I took a cab and didn’t need to bother with parking. I find a small lot with space available, but it’s farther out…and I’m wearing heels.
I know better than this, but it’s like someone else has taken over my body.
I end up outside the same bar.
He’s there—same man, same position, same half-worn expression like he’s seen too much and is too tired to care about any of it.
He looks up when I step inside. Cocks his head. Does he recognize me from the other day?
“You again,” he says.
Yes, he recognizes me. I don’t smile.
I step up to the bar and rest my hand on the edge. “Hi there.”
“Hi, again.”
“You said it felt inevitable,” I say. “Like it was going to happen.”
He shifts, glancing past me for a second before his gaze returns. “So we’re back to that. It was a long time ago, ma’am, and I say a lot of things. Why are you still on this?”
“I’m just getting started.”
He gives a quiet huff. “You shouldn’t be asking about that night.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s done.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s finished.”
He presses his lips into a thin line.
Silence for a bit.
Then—
“What actually happened?” I ask.
He flicks his gaze to my hand on the bar and then back to my face. He hesitates, and for a second I think he’s going to shut me down again.
Instead—
“There was shouting,” he says. “It was raining. Real heavy. I couldn’t see half of what was going on.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
He furrows his eyebrows. “I said what I remember.”
“You’re remembering more now.”
His jaw goes tense.
I don’t move. I won’t give him any space to retreat.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone at night,” he says.
“You let me worry about that,” I reply. “Now, please go on.”
Another pause.
Then he leans in slightly. “One of them had a guy. He was holding him by the front of his jacket and dragging him back from the edge like he wasn’t ready to let him go over.”
I feel tightness in my chest. “That doesn’t sound like an accident.”
“I didn’t say it was.” He shrugs. “I told you. It felt like it was going to happen no matter what.”
His gaze shifts again, over my shoulder this time, lingering a fraction longer.
“What else?” I press.
He looks back at me, but his focus isn’t fully here anymore.
“It happened too fast,” he says. “Like it was already going to happen. Like nobody was surprised by how it ended.”
“And the others?” I ask. “You said there were more than one.”
“There were always more than one,” he mutters.
“That night.”
A pause.
Then—
“One of them moved,” he says. “Came in fast. Not to help the guy. To—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I can see that.”
He looks beyond me again.
Something in my stomach drops.
“What?” I say.
“Another one stayed back. Seemed to just watch, you know?”
“Watch what?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly. “You got what you came for. You should go. You shouldn’t be here alone at night.”
“It’s early yet,” I say.
“Still. You should go.”
I don’t move. “Why are you looking over my shoulder?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He exhales. “Lady…”
I turn, look out the front windows.
A black SUV sits across from the bar, pulled over almost onto the sidewalk. No one is getting out. No movement inside that I can see.
It’s just sitting there.
As if whoever is inside is watching this place.
I turn back to the bartender. “Are you expecting someone?”
“This is a place of business. I expect customers all the time.”
I place my hands on the bar, lean toward him. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. Is it strange for black SUVs to just park across from this place?”
“No.”
“Then why are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
That’s a lie. His shoulders are pulled in, and his hands are trembling slightly. I’ve interviewed enough people to know nerves when I see them, and this guy is ready to burst. Not good for a barkeep handling glassware.
I straighten. “Thank you.”
I don’t wait for a response. I turn and walk out, keeping my steps steady and controlled as I walk to the lot where my car is parked.
Don’t run.
Don’t rush.
I can feel it, though—that pull between my shoulder blades and the tingling on my neck.
Someone is watching me.
I reach my car and unlock it. My hand slips slightly on the handle before I get the door open. I slide into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and immediately lock it.
Is the SUV still in front of the bar? Still watching?
I start the engine and pull out, not fast enough to draw attention, but not slow either. I check the rearview mirror once.
No SUV.
So he wasn’t after me. Not really. He’s not following me.
But he did see me.
And that feels almost worse.