13. Clara
CLARA
FEAR ON FIRE
“You heifer! I can’t believe you’ve been here for two whole fucking days, and I’m just now seeing your face.” Tamara’s puffy eyes are narrowed into slits, but I know she isn’t really mad at me.
I broke down when Tamara walked through the door, and I’m so thankful that Maverick slipped out before he saw the absolute ugliest cry ever.
Tamara immediately crawled into the cramped hospital bed, wrapping her arms around me and soaking my shoulder with her tears. She broke down harder than I did when I told her everything—the ride home, the warehouse, the coffin, the forensic exam…
“I don’t even have my phone! I wish Cruz called you sooner…” Our hands are intertwined between us as we lay on our sides, but I dip my head closer to hers because I just need her. “I wish you were here when I woke up.”
Tamara is all I have. She’s been my champion, my person, ever since our first shift at The Pour House years ago. She’s the sister I’ve never had, and it was her voice in my head that kept me sane. Talking to me. Telling me to fight. Cursing me anytime I wanted to give in to the suffering.
“I’m here, best friend, and there’s no way in hell I’ma let a man get rid of me. That detective is gonna get a piece of my mind for not calling me right away. I told his ass to call me if he heard anything.”
I can’t help but laugh because she’s dead serious.
“And that… that fucker better not ever show his face. He better fucking hope I never see him on the street because I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll cut off his dick and feed it to him.” She stares me right in the eyes, telling me she’d do it, consequences be damned.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, tiger. Isn’t that what Mav and Cruz are for? Maybe he’ll do something stupid, and they will be forced to shoot him. I’d like to see that.”
“Girl, they won’t cut off his dick. It’s probably against the law and shit.
And you know that fucker should have it sliced right off.
With a dull fucking knife, too. Or scissors.
Kid scissors.” God, she reads too many horror stories.
She’s freaking scary, but I love her. “So. Mav, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me teasingly.
I awkwardly shoulder check her. “Shut up. But, honestly, Tam, I don’t know what I would’ve done without him here. Whenever I spiral, he’s there. You’d think I would’ve been afraid of him, but he makes me feel safe.”
“Hell, girl, he’d make me feel safe, too.” Tamara shimmies her shoulders, and I swat her before a yawn overtakes me. “Get some sleep, best friend. I’m not going anywhere. ”
“Promise?” My eyes are already closing, heavy with sleep.
“Promise,” she whispers as she leans forward to kiss my forehead.
I believe her.
Tamara kept her promise. She stayed with me through the night, even though the bed was way too freaking small for both of us. I had to force her to go home before she missed her yoga classes. She’s worked hard to build a clientele, and I’ll be damned if she cancels because of me.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Maverick hands me a cup of coffee, then pulls a breakfast sandwich from a white bag and places it on the side table, right next to my drink of life.
“The sooner I do this, the sooner I can freaking stop talking about him.” I don’t know if he will ever stop invading my mind or my sleep, but I can make the choice to never talk about him when this is all over. I feel like it’s the only control I have, and I’m grasping onto it like a lifeline.
“Okay. Just remember we can stop if it becomes too much.” Maverick opens the door and gestures for someone to come inside. He steps out of the way as a middle-aged woman crosses the threshold, offering Maverick a nod before he eases the door shut.
He follows her into the room and indicates for her to sit in the chair he positioned to face us. “Clara, this is Amy. She’s a forensic sketch artist who works with the Minneapolis FBI and police department. Amy, this is Clara.”
“Hi, Clara. It’s nice to meet you.” Amy sits down and places her briefcase on her lap, quickly removing a sketchpad and pencil. “I’m going to ask you a few questions to help me visualize his face. Take your time—the more details, the better. Are you ready to get started?”
Short and straight to the point. I like her, even though the thought of picturing his face makes my heart race.
I nod and readjust my position on the loveseat, folding my legs beneath me and leaning against the armrest. Maverick sits down next to me, not too close yet not too far. His hand rests on his thigh, calloused palm facing up, letting me know his strength is there if I need it. “I’m ready.”
“Alright.” Amy’s voice is calm and even. “Let’s start with his face. Can you describe the shape of it?”
I exhale, tapping my fingers restlessly against the armrest. “Uhm… kind of angular. His jaw was defined, but I don’t know how else to describe it.”
Amy nodded and started sketching. “What about his hair? Color, length?”
“Dirty blonde. Whenever I saw him, his hair was up in a man bun, so I’m not exactly sure how long it was.
And he was clean shaven.” God, I really don’t want to picture his face.
I lean forward and pick up my coffee, needing to hold something.
The warmth is comforting, so I bring it to my lips just to feel the steam.
“Got it. And his eyes? ”
I swallow. “Chocolate brown.” I have to close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose, attempting to ward off the shiver threatening to run down my spine.
I remember the feel of his eyes on me, the revulsion that coursed through my veins every time his gaze lingered.
“He wore contacts. I used to wonder what he’d look like in glasses. And he, uh, had thick eyebrows.”
The only sound in the room is the scratch of Amy’s pencil on the sketchpad. She takes her time, but the pace is oddly calming. “Okay. How about his nose?”
“Uhm… normal? It was straight. It fit his face.” I shrug because I don’t know how to do this.
“His lips?”
I pause, involuntarily visualizing the way he pressed his lips against mine after he took me out of the trunk. Right before he buried me. Alive.
Maverick’s warm hand slides against mine, pulling me from those terrible memories. “Uh,” I clear my throat. “They were, uh, full. Even. Top and bottom. You know how the bottom lip is usually fuller than the top lip? His were even.”
“Did he have any scars, tattoos, piercings, moles, freckles? Anything like that?”
I shake my head. “No, none that I saw.”
“Okay.” Amy is quiet as she continues her sketch. I watch her hands move while she works, taking care not to look at the sketch itself.
“Hey,” Maverick whispers, his head leaning closer to mine. “You okay?”
Am I okay? I don’t think I am. I suck in a breath then shake my head.
This feels worse than recounting what happened in that office with him.
I’m going to have to see his face again.
It doesn’t matter that it’s in the form of sketched charcoal, it’s still his face.
A face that fills me with terror and overruns my dreams.
I never want to see his face again.
Amy glances up and studies me for a moment, then turns her sketchpad around. The rough pencil strokes have taken shape—there he is, staring back at me. I feel my stomach twist. “Is this him?”
My breath hitches as I stare at the face of the devil.
“Yes,” I whisper. “That’s him.”
“Knock, knock, darling.” Rosie doesn’t actually knock; she simply walks in with a smile on her face.
There are times when she reminds me of my mom, and every time she does, it hurts just a little bit.
But Rosie has a knack for making me smile when I don’t want to.
“Dr. Callahan says you can go home. How you feeling?”
“I’m okay. I’m ready.” I look down at the bandages on my wrist and wrinkle my nose. “Do these come off now, too? Because I really want them off.”
Rosie laughs at me before gently taking my hand and assessing the skin beneath the gauze. “They’re healing nicely, darling. They can come off. I have your discharge paperwork. Do you have a ride home?”
“Yes,” Maverick answers before I can. “I’ll take her home. ”
“Of course you will.” She winks at him, then turns her attention back to me. “Dr. Callahan doesn’t have any prescriptions for you, but she said you can take ibuprofen or acetaminophen if you need to for any pain.”
“Thank you, Rosie. For everything,” I say. “You’ve been… amazing.”
“Oh, darling.” Her arms are soft and comforting when she wraps me in a hug and kisses my cheek.
“You’ll be okay.” Patting my cheek before she steps back, Rosie shows me the discharge papers and points to a handwritten number.
“That’s me. I don’t usually do that, but you seem like you need someone, darling.
Call me if you need anything, you understand? ”
I nod, blinking back tears at her kindness. “Yes, I understand.” I kiss her cheek and watch her leave.
“I don’t like that you’ll be by yourself, Clara,” Maverick says ruefully as soon as he hears the snick of the door.
“I won’t be by myself. Remember, Cruz is putting a detail on me.”
“You know what I mean. We’re getting you a phone, and you’re gonna call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
A loud ringing startles me, but Maverick fishes his phone from his pocket and brings it to his ear. “Rhodes.”
I don’t like the look he gives me. I like it even less when he starts pacing.
“She’s just been discharged… Fuck.” Maverick stops right in front of the window and pulls the curtain open just wide enough to peek through.
“How’d that happen, Cruz? … Fucking hell, this is go nna be a disaster …
Alright, alright. We’re leaving in a few minutes.
” Maverick shakes his head and starts collecting his things and mine.
“No, I’ll take her through the employee garage.
Thanks for the heads up … Do me a favor?
Meet me at her house with a phone. She needs one … Thanks, man.”
“What’s wrong, Mav? What happened?”
“The press is outside. They know about him… and you.”