Five #3
“It’s probably just my imagination,” I said, hopeful, but when Russo’s gaze slid from mine, my hope sank. I read the news on his face like a bad fortune. “You think it’s the Canceled Killer, too.”
And the worst part was he didn’t seem surprised that the Canceled Killer was popping up in southern Wisconsin.
“And… you’re not shocked because…” I was putting the pieces together as I sat there. “Because you’re not here to check up on me. You followed the Canceled Killer here.”
Russo flashed me a sheepish smile. “You’re too sharp for your own good, kid.”
I was disappointed and terrified at the same time: disappointed that Russo hadn’t traveled through two hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic just to have a beer with me, and terrified that all the messages I’d been receiving might actually be from the killer who took lives without a second thought.
Because Russo didn’t spend his time on wild-goose chases. Not unless pointed there by me.
Russo took a swig of his beer, watching me the entire time. “The Canceled Killer sent a message to the precinct,” he confided. “He said he had some unfinished business with the Crime Hive. Specifically, with you.”
I let that sink in.
“And when I couldn’t find you in Chicago…” he continued.
“You came here.” I bit my lip. “You don’t think…” I glanced at Russo’s stoic face. “I’m really his next… victim?” My throat went dry. It’s what I feared most. The terrifying possibility I’d been pushing to the furthest corners of my mind.
Russo didn’t say a word, and that was all the confirmation I needed.
“But… but… I’m not canceled.”
“But aren’t you, though?” Russo pushed back.
It was true. There might not be a #cancelElla hashtag trending, but all the other elements were there. Public outrage. Delight in the hypocrisy of a fallen podcast detective. The sympathetic victim, Jared Gatta, who volunteered at a no-kill animal shelter when he wasn’t being wrongly detained.
Yeah, it was bad.
Worse than bad.
Even as I tried to reason away the hard truth, I couldn’t fight facts.
We both knew I was pretty much canceled.
I’d accused the wrong man. I’d gotten fired from my job.
I was an online pariah. People loved to jeer at me.
I was the perfect victim for the Canceled Killer, the kind of poetic justice he ate for breakfast.
I might be able to defend myself from some jerk trying to steal my bag on the subway, but a cold-blooded psychopath who plotted each murder with precision?
I didn’t know about that. Suddenly, I imagined the Canceled Killer sneaking into my Airstream and strangling me with the cord of my podcast microphone.
“I should warn my parents. And Olivia…” I bounced up from my seat, adrenaline flowing through my veins. I wanted to punch someone, but there was no one to punch. Tears burned my eyes, because I cried when I got too angry. My vision blurred.
Russo stood, too. “Hey, hey.” His voice was soft, apologetic.
“Come here.” He opened up his arms then, and I hesitated for just a beat before I stumbled forward into them.
His thick arms wrapped around me, and I pressed my cheek against the lapel of his jacket.
His chest was firm and warm, and for a second, I forgot all about the Canceled Killer.
Here, in the circle of Russo’s strong arms, with my own wrapped around his muscular lower back, I was safe.
I sniffed back my tears, hoping I wasn’t getting his crisp white shirt all wet. He squeezed me a little tighter.
“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “I’ll protect you.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I desperately wanted to.
My anger drained away as he held me. It took me a beat or two to realize how closely I was pressed against Russo, full body to body.
I felt suddenly self-conscious and pulled away.
Reluctantly, he let me go. He met my gaze, staring at me like an expensive convertible he wanted to take for a test drive with the top down.
I felt a surge of warmth flood my face and had the sudden urge to giggle. But then I realized my nose was running like a faucet, and I sniffed just as Russo produced a folded tissue from the inner pocket of his jacket.
I dabbed at my nose delicately and then crumpled the tissue in a ball.
“Give me your phone,” Russo said, opening his palm.
I laid it in his hand and felt a little jolt when he touched me.
It was probably static electricity, and not at all that his fingers were warm, strong, and capable.
Russo made me wonder in what ways he’d put Spider-Man Mateo’s enthusiastic but still amateurish moves in the bedroom to shame.
Russo pulled up a text message and typed in his number, sending a winking face to his phone, which dinged on the table.
“I’m adding me to your contacts. And I’m sending me a copy of those photos you took of the car.
I’m going to find the driver.” I suddenly felt relieved.
Between him and Oscar, they’d get to the bottom of it.
“You get another text from this perp, or even get a whiff of anything off, you text or call me. Immediately. Okay?”
I clutched the safety tether he offered, like a life raft in a tumultuous sea. I glanced at his thick neck and shoulders and his strong hands as he handed my phone back to me. Hard to imagine me drowning when Russo was around.
“Thank you,” I said and reached out to touch his forearm, the muscles thick and taut even through his jacket. Russo glanced down at my hand and back up to me, a glint of warmth in his eyes.
“Shall we finish our drink?” He nodded back to our glasses on the table. I’d rather chow down on daisy stems, but I didn’t think I had a choice. I wanted the alcohol more than I cared about the taste at this point.
Across the bar, Jude and Kenzie appeared to be leaving. Huh. Wonder where they were going?
“Earth to Ella,” Russo prodded gently, bringing my attention back to him.
“Sorry. Yes! Beer is good,” I said, mimicking a Neanderthal as I slid back into my seat. I took a swig of the beer, only partially caring it tasted like I was flossing with pine needles. After the third swig, I was barely noticing that I actually hated it.
That’s a lie. I still hated it.
“So, I assume you have a plan,” I said to Russo. Because Russo always had a plan. “You didn’t come all this way just to say hello.”
Russo chuckled. “Maybe I like killing two birds with one stone. Ever think of that?” The way he said it made it sound like he really wanted to give me a nice shoulder rub. Naked. Also, he didn’t want to rub my shoulders.
“The plan?” I prodded.
Russo leaned across the table, his blue eyes fixed on mine, a little quirk to his full mouth. “How do you feel about teaming up again and helping me catch this son of a bitch?”
I felt a surge of excitement. Teaming up sounded nice.
But then I realized what he meant.
“Wait. So, you want to use me as bait?”
Russo’s eyes lit up. “Bingo.”