Chapter 22 #2
“No complaints from me.” He grinned and started unpacking their meal—chicken lo mein, barbecue ribs, pepper steak, steamed dumplings, pork fried rice, and shrimp rolls.
A few handfuls of sauce and mustard packets, fortune cookies, and five wooden chopstick sets were added to the mix.
Yeah, he’d definitely gotten too much food even if Andy had been home.
While he opened the containers, Tess brought over plates, utensils, and glasses of ice without asking what was needed, like they’d done this a hundred times instead of... whatever single-digit number they were on.
That realization hit him harder than he expected—quiet, domestic, and comfortable. And how much he liked it was... dangerous, maybe. He didn’t know how to do long-term relationships, and with every day that passed, he wanted one with Tess more and more. But what if he screwed it up somehow?
Take it day by day. And no matter how much you know that your brothers will mess with you, ask them and Uncle Dan for advice. Why? Because Tess is worth it.
Filling an empty napkin holder on the table, she glanced at him. “So, how was your day?”
“No one shot at me, so I guess it was good.”
When she frowned at him, he knew that had been the absolute worst thing he could’ve said. “Sorry. Bad joke. My day was fine. How was yours?”
They sat, and she grabbed a shrimp roll. “Productive. We only had two autopsies this morning, so the rest of the day was filled with glamorous stuff like disinfecting tables and restocking supplies.”
He chuckled, then glanced at her. For some reason, it seemed like she’d purposely left something out. “And?”
She hesitated, her thumb brushing the edge of her napkin. “It’s probably nothing,” she said. “Just... I noticed a black Escalade a few times over the last several days.”
Brian stilled. “Where?”
“Across from work today.” She exhaled through her nose, like she didn’t love admitting this.
“And… Sunday, I saw it in town and again driving by the house. I don’t know.
I wasn’t exactly taking notes. Today, it caught my eye, and I got the feeling it was the same one.
Maybe I’m just imagining things. Forget about it. As I said, it’s probably nothing.”
He watched as she dumped some fried rice onto her plate, the way her shoulders tightened, then eased—as if she was still wondering if mentioning it was a stupid idea.
“Tess,” he said quietly, “you don’t need to talk yourself out of telling me something.”
“I just don’t want to sound paranoid.” Her mouth curved in a wry, embarrassed line. “For all I know, it was three different Escalades, and I’m connecting dots that aren’t there.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “But maybe not.” He kept his tone even, though something low and uneasy stirred beneath his ribs.
From what he’d learned about Tess over the past few weeks, she wasn’t dramatic or easily rattled.
If the incident with the tree falling on her house proved anything, it was that.
“If something feels off, I want to know. That’s not you overreacting—that’s just situational awareness. ”
She nodded once, slowly. “Okay. Next time, I’ll try to get a plate number. If I can.”
“Good. But don’t put yourself at risk to get it.
” He didn’t push further. Didn’t tell her his gut was already running scenarios, cataloging possibilities.
Instead, he watched a little of the tension bleed from her posture, the normalcy of takeout and clicking chopsticks settling back around them like a blanket.
And he told himself not to show how much he was already on alert.
He stared out over the ocean as he gnawed on a sticky barbecued rib.
Since the view faced the east, no sunset could be seen, only the lingering light it left behind.
The sky over the neighborhood was still washed in pale gold and lavender, the kind of soft afterglow that hung around long after the sun dipped behind the opposite side of the house.
A thin crescent moon was climbing off the horizon, faint but steady, like it was testing how bright it could dare to be.
“So how are your cases going?” she asked while adding food to her plate from a few different containers. “The two related shootings.”
He shook his head once. “Dragging. Should have ballistics back for the second shooting, but the first one came back related to a weapon used in another homicide in Havenwood about three weeks ago.” The large town was forty minutes west of Elizabeth City.
Unfortunately, the detective at HPD hadn’t had anything useful either.
Their case was stuck in the same mud as the SBI’s.
“What about the guy in the hospital? Still not talking?”
He shook his head once. “Not yet.”
“Will he?”
“If he wants to breathe next month.” He heard the grit in his tone, and Tess’s gaze flicked up, steady but sharper now. Not afraid—just studying him, like she was trying to decide whether to ask about whatever weight sat behind those words.
He wasn’t losing sleep over the death of a gang member. He never had. What worried him—what put that edge in his voice—was the next time. Because there was always a next time. And sooner or later, some damn innocent person was going to be standing in the wrong place when the bullets started flying.
To lessen the tension in the room, he changed the subject, and they enjoyed the rest of their meal.
They did the dishes shoulder-to-shoulder, one washing while the other dried and put things away, each trying not to crowd the other and failing in small, gentle ways that neither seemed to mind.
He caught himself noticing how natural it felt, the low clatter of dishes and utensils, the flow of tap water, and her humming under her breath.
A few months ago, that kind of domestic quiet would’ve made him tense.
Now? It was like the start of something he wanted more of.
After the leftovers were put away, they drifted to the couch without talking about it, somehow ending up side by side like that was always where the evening had been heading.
The windows were cracked open just enough for the evening air to slip in—salt, a low breeze, and the steady pulse of waves hitting the shore.
He sat first. Didn’t gesture. Didn’t try to lead. Just waited.
Tess hesitated a fraction of a second, then settled beside him—close enough that her thigh brushed his. She let out a slow exhale and then leaned in, her shoulder finding the line of his arm like her body made the decision for her.
He caught the quiet mix of her shampoo and the warmth of her skin, simple and clean, the kind of scent that made him want to pull her closer.
“You okay?” he asked.
She tilted her head up, her eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I am when you’re here.”