“Okay, fine,” he finally said. “You’re right. I was a jerk. You think I don’t know that? And while I’m not exactly proud of my actions, I just—” He clenched his jaw, picked at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “I guess I was stupid enough to believe you when you said you guys were over. Seeing you together like that, sitting all
snugged up and cozy, left me feeling like I’d been played.”
Before she could stop herself, Layla burst out laughing.
“Oh, so now this is funny? This is all a big joke to you? Because let me tell you, Layla, you are one sadistic—”
Before he could finish, she said, “No.” She shook her head. “Not a joke—not at all. It’s just—you gotta admit, the phrase snugged up and cozy is kinda hilarious. Not to mention that if anyone in this car is a player, I’m pretty sure it’s you. Let’s not forget how you arrived at the party with one girl, only to go home with another.”
Tommy shrugged and stared out the passenger-side window. After a few moments he said, “Whatever. Listen, can we just rewind?”
Without hesitation, Layla shook her head. There was no erasing the past. It was out there and done with and there was no going back.
“No,” she said. “There’s no rewind.”
Beside her, Tommy sighed.
“But what we can do is move forward from here.”
He turned to her with his best Tommy grin. Between the dimples, the irresistible lips, and the deep denim-blue eyes, Layla could only imagine how many broken hearts that smile was single-handedly responsible for. She hoped she wouldn’t someday count herself among them.
They drove in companionable silence for the next several miles, until Layla said, “Does it ever bother you to know that someone, somewhere, knows exactly what happened to Madison—maybe even someone we know—and they have no problem letting Aster take the fall?”
After a long, considering look, Tommy said, “Every moment of every day.” His words hung heavy between them until Layla turned up the stereo in hopes that Ziggy Stardust might chase them away.
THIRTY-NINE
JANIE’S GOT A GUN
Trena strode into the dimly lit tavern, an homage to wood with its paneled walls, beamed ceilings, and plank floor. It looked exactly like what it was—a popular cop bar known for cheap drinks and cheaper eats. She inhaled the scent of a decade’s worth of spilled beer and passed by a row of empty stools. Within the next hour it would be standing room only.
Grabbing a seat across from her source, she pretended not to notice the way he studied her from under a lowered brow. “You’re late,” he grumbled.
Trena shrugged and reached into her bag. Retrieving the note she’d found earlier attached to the cat, she pushed it across the table toward him.
He looked it over and let out a low whistle. “Looks like you found yourself a hater.”
“I’m told it comes with the territory.” She grabbed the menu and looked it over—carbs, more carbs, and fried carbs. She quickly discarded it.
“Want me to check it out?”
She shook her head, already regretting her decision to show him after having decided not to. Still, if something should happen to her, it would be good to have someone in law enforcement know she’d been threatened.
She plucked it from his meaty fingers and dropped it back in her bag.
“Anything?” He leaned toward her.
Trena took a look at Larsen’s half-eaten cheeseburger and said, “No thanks, I’m not hungry.”
His lip twitched at the side. “I’m asking if you have any intel for me.”
“Isn’t that usually your department?” She arched a brow and looked him over, well aware that his testosterone-fueled meathead routine was mostly an act. Underneath all the overblown muscles and machismo, Larsen was a cool and calculating detective with a serious dark side she did not want to test.
“Tit for tat is always nice.” He took a slow sip of his Coke.
Trena rubbed her lips together, caught in an internal debate. Knowing it was better to give him something, even if it was really just a hint of something, she said, “What do you know about James?”
Larsen squinted until his eyes nearly disappeared behind a set of heavily freckled lids.