As Dust Dances (Play On 2)

“Really?”

Something about the seriousness of her tone drew my gaze back to her.

“When? . . . Okay, I’ll let her know . . . Bye.” She hung up and stared at me in so much concern my mind began to whir with questions. Had someone found out about me? Did the guys know where I was? Did the press? “What’s going on?”

“Killian’s lawyer called. They found the boys who attacked you. The police need you to come in and ID them.”

I felt a weird mixture of relief and anger. Relief because my location was apparently still a mystery to the outside world but anger because I didn’t want to have to face those boys again, especially Johnny. But I knew I had to. “When?”

“Killian’s texting me the number you’ve to call. They’ll give you the details.”

For some stupid reason, I felt hurt that Killian hadn’t called me himself. Clearly, he had no intention of being there for me for anything personal anymore. I knew that it was the smart thing for him to do but . . .

No, never mind. No buts.

“Okay.” I blew out a breath. “Guess I better buy a coat.”

“I liked the wool one,” she offered, gently tugging at the one I was currently wearing. “This is a no.”

“I’m going to pay you back. For everything,” I assured her as I shrugged out of it.

“It’s all out of the company credit card,” she replied. “So you don’t have to. I know accessing your money means letting certain people know where you are.”

We grabbed the coat we’d both liked and walked to the till to pay for it. As we stood at the cash desk, waiting to be served, I said, “If I haven’t told you before, I’m really glad I met you, Autumn O’Dea.”

She grinned, nudging me with her shoulder, “Back at ya, Finch.”

* * *

OFFICER CALTON ASKED ME TO meet her at the police station the next day where they were holding the boys before officially charging them.

Without needing to ask, Autumn guessed I might want some company while facing the kid who tried to rape me. As crazy as my life had been these last few weeks, it had been a good thing because I really didn’t have much time to dwell on the attack in the cemetery. Of course, the cast did its best to be a constant reminder, and there were moments when I closed my eyes at night and I could still feel the weight of Johnny’s body bearing down on me. When I was feeling particularly grim, I couldn’t help but imagine what might have happened if his friend hadn’t saved me.

I’d been one of the lucky ones. I eyed my cast, grateful that my worst wounds from the attack were physical. Although I was still carrying around a hefty amount of anger.

The door to the apartment opened that morning and I stood, ready to go. I frowned as I listened to the footsteps walking down the hall. They were too heavy for Autumn.

O’Dea appeared in the doorway, wearing a black double-breasted wool coat. He had a black scarf tucked into it like a cravat and was holding leather gloves.

I sucked in a breath, resenting the flutter in my lower belly.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes roamed over me, too long, too intense, until I felt myself squirm. I was wearing indigo bootleg jeans, my new fitted blue wool coat, and heeled boots that Autumn decided I had to have. The only mar on what I thought was a pretty nice outfit was my cast. “O’Dea.”

He stepped closer, those dark eyes focused on my face. “You’ve put on weight.”

I had.

Brenna had been weighing me every week for the past month. My BMI was healthy again and to my everlasting relief, I got my period two days ago.

“That was the plan,” I answered dryly.

“Good.”

Good? That was it? Okay. I guess it was “good.” Exasperated, I sighed. “What are you doing here, O’Dea?”

He scowled. “Taking you to the station. I thought that was obvious.”

“I thought Autumn was taking me.” I grabbed my purse and keys from the side table, brushing by him, pretending not to notice the clean smell of soap and a hint of spicy aftershave, or what it made me feel. He smelled good—who cared?

O’Dea followed. “Well, I’m taking you. Problem?”

“Nope.”

It felt like a problem once we were stuck in the elevator though. Awkwardness that hadn’t been there between us before made me shift from one foot to the other in discomfort.

“I guess you’re mad at me for some reason?”

I threw him a befuddled look. “I am?”

He threw back that bland stare of his, like nothing I did affected him. “Last time we spoke, I’d graduated to Killian. Now I’m back to O’Dea. And now the silent treatment.”

Hating his perceptiveness, I made a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I’m nervous because I’m about to face the boy who tried to rape me and the one who stole my goddamned guitar.”

O’Dea flinched at the word “rape” and then his expression turned hard. “You’ll get your guitar back.”

“He sold it,” I said bitterly. Officer Calton had told me the boy they’d picked up was called Douglas Inch and they hadn’t found the guitar in his possession. The obvious conclusion was that the little shit had sold it.

“We’ll get it back.”

I didn’t share his out-of-character optimism, so I said nothing.

He opened his car door for me and I got in, murmuring thanks as he gently closed it. When he got in on the driver’s side, however, he slammed his.

“Problem?”

He cut me an impatient look and I felt a little gleeful that it had taken me less than a minute to wipe out his blank countenance. “You tell me.”

“O’Dea, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because I’ve been busy with work lately.”

“Well, how sane of me to be mad at you for working hard.”

His lips twitched at my sarcasm. “So . . . you’re not mad?”

“Like I said . . . I’m . . . I’m just a little nervous.”

“They can’t touch you. They won’t even know you’re there when you ID them.”

I nodded, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

The ride to the station was quiet, but this time O’Dea didn’t hold it against me. Officer Calton came out to greet us when we arrived.

“I didn’t want to say this on the phone, but we actually only have Douglas Inch here at the station. Jonathan Welsh is currently in the hospital. You’ll have to ID him from a photograph.”

I frowned in confusion. “What is he doing in the hospital?”

“Both boys had been attacked when we picked them up. Mr. Inch’s injuries were minor but Welsh’s were considerable. He’s got a broken femur, collarbone, and a few broken ribs.”

“What happened?”

Calton shrugged, like we were talking about afternoon tea and not serious assault. “This isn’t their first offense. They’ve been in and out of juvie for years. And word is that they got on the wrong side of the McCrurys.”

“The who?”

“Well-known Glasgow gang,” O’Dea answered for her.

“Oh.” The vengeful part of me was glad. Karma was a bitch after all.

“This way,” Calton said, and we followed her into a barren office. She rounded a desk and opened a folder, pushing it toward me.

I turned it around and found myself staring at a photograph of Johnny.

“Johnny, let’s go.”

“No before I teach this bitch a lesson.”

I flinched, hearing my breath shudder as I remembered clawing the ground to get away from him.

“Miss Finch?”

Suddenly O’Dea was beside me, his arm pressed against mine. I looked up at him and this time, he wasn’t hiding his emotions. Concern and anger seethed in his dark eyes. “Skylar?”

I nodded. “It’s him.”

“To clarify, Miss Finch,” Calton said, drawing my gaze reluctantly back to hers. “You’re identifying Jonathan Welsh as the man who attempted to rape you.”