Chapter Ten #3
“He did seem pleased.” Remembering her experience at the shop sent a prick of discomfort along her neck. “Have you ever heard about those murders back in 1903?”
Devin shook his head as he covered his fries in black pepper.
“It’s creepy, don’t you think?”
“I guess. Did they ever catch the killer?” He took a large bite of the burger.
“No. That’s what makes it even creepier. But investigative tools were almost non-existent back then.”
“Or the person was clever.” He took another bite. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughed. “I got caught up in the mystery of it all.”
“I think Halloween and all the ghost stories around the town have your imagination in overdrive.”
“And the very real murders that are happening right now,” she countered.
“Hey, handsome. Your booth’s waiting. You solo tonight?” Maddie said.
Devin glanced over.
“Throttle, Puck, Chas, and Rock are on their way,” a familiar male voice answered.
Casey froze mid-bite. That voice.
“Excellent. I’ll get you all set up.”
Casey put her fork down and casually looked over, pretending to read the dessert board when dark eyes crashed into hazel ones.
“Hey,” she said, her voice weaker than she liked.
Rags gave a curt chin lift—cool, distant—then walked down the aisle, the tension in his shoulders saying plenty.
Devin followed her gaze. “Is he a friend of yours?”
She swallowed. “Yeah… kind of.”
Devin crumpled his napkin, tossed it on the empty plate, and leaned back. “He doesn’t seem like the theatre type.”
“He’s not,” she said.
Devin looked over his shoulder then back at her. “He looks like one of those Insurgents motorcycle club guys.”
Before she could answer, four well-built men in leather, T-shirts, chains, and biker boots walked down the aisle. One of them paused, gave her a smirk, then followed the others to the back booth where Rags sat.
That guy acted like he knew me. Maybe he was at Blue’s Belly that night. A thread of embarrassment wove through her as she remembered how she and Rags had been kissing like no one else was in the bar.
“Do you know that guy, too?” Devin asked, glancing back again.
All five bikers shifted their attention toward him in one slow, unified movement. He turned away quickly, color rising in his cheeks.
Then it clicked: the smirking biker was the same one who’d come into the nursery the morning after Blue’s Belly. He’d bought a watering can, but the way he looked at her had felt less like flirting and more like sizing her up.
“So do you know him?” Devin’s voice pulled her back.
“No. He came into the nursery to buy something the other morning.”
“How does someone get to know those guys? They seem to pretty much keep to themselves.”
“Bad luck, I guess.” She smiled faintly.
“But you’re a pretty woman, and I’ve heard about the wild parties they have at their clubhouse. I guess all women are fair game.”
“I haven’t been to the clubhouse,” she said. “I know the sister of one of the guys, that’s all.”
As Maddie cleared their table and rattled off dessert specials, Casey could feel Rags’s presence like static in the air. When she glanced over, she caught his stare—jaw set, forehead creased. She looked away.
“We should do this again sometime,” Devin said.
“Sure,” she said, though her stomach was tight.
“They have the peach pie,” he said, signaling Maddie.
“I’m going to pass.”
He eyed her plate. “You hardly ate anything. Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m okay. I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”
Lines deepened across his forehead, and his gaze drifted once more towards Rags’s table.
“Did you date that guy or something?” he asked. “He keeps staring at you.”
“Not really. We just bumped into each other the other night and… we sort of danced.” She forced a smile.
He smiled back, but there was a flicker in his eyes she couldn’t read.
“Are you ready to go? I have some work to do tonight,” she said, reaching for her purse.
She slid out of the booth and, against better judgment, looked toward Rags one more time. Now he was laughing with his brothers, flirting with Maddie, acting like she didn’t exist. That hurt more than any glare would have.
The sky had deepened to violet by the time she and Devin stepped outside. The diner’s neon sign buzzed faintly, casting red and blue streaks across the pavement. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked, and a motorcycle’s distant hum hung in the air.
Devin fell into step beside her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Just… tired.”
He nodded. “That motorcycle guy brought you down.”
“Not at all. It’s been a long day, that’s all.” She gave a small, uneasy laugh.
They reached her car. Devin leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, close enough that she caught a faint scent of aftershave, fresh with a hint of pine.
“You should be careful driving home,” he said. “With everything that’s been happening… those murders.” His voice softened. “Lock your doors, all right?”
“I will.”
“Good.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We can’t have anything happening to one of our town’s brightest historians.”
Something in the way he said it made her pulse jump a half beat of warmth and a half beat of something she couldn’t name.
She brushed it off and smiled back. “Goodnight, Devin.”
“Goodnight, Casey.”
He waited until she slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine before stepping back, hands still tucked in his coat pockets, watching as she backed out. She gave him a quick wave as she backed out, and he stood there in the neon glow, face unreadable, until she turned out of the lot.
Casey headed toward home, a heaviness pressing inside her chest. She gripped the steering wheel tighter than she meant to.
Devin’s voice echoed in her head. “Lock your doors, all right?” And she couldn’t tell if it had been out of concern or something else.
Then Curtis’s words threaded through: “Some people are drawn to what’s dark and striking. They can’t help themselves.”
Maybe she was just tired. Maybe everything felt off because she’d seen Rags again.
Her stomach clenched as she thought of him at the back booth with his brothers, the way he’d looked at her and then later ignored her. That cool chin lift. The tense shoulders. Aw hell. I’m overthinking everything.
At a red light, she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes looked tired, shadowed. I need a good’s night sleep, that’s all.
When she pulled onto her driveway, she sat there a moment with the engine running, staring at the porch light flickering against her front steps. Stop thinking about Rags, right now! Those outlaws are all players. You were doing just fine all on your own.
When she finally drive into the garage and turned off the ignition, the silence felt heavier than before. She went inside and locked the door just like Devin said.
She stood there for a heartbeat, listening to the house breathe around her, every creak and tick suddenly louder.
Then she exhaled, forced herself to move, and told herself she wasn’t scared… just tired.
She sank onto the couch, turned on the TV, and flipped through the channels, letting the noise fill the room.