18
Primal Instinct
Lakin: Now
The last time I was this close to Torrance, he was winking at Cam. Bar towel slung over his shoulder. Cool countenance of a man about to get laid. Though, I remember he was a lot younger somehow. In his interview with Rhys he revealed he’s only twenty-eight, yet the years working in the harsh Florida sun has aged him, making him appear older, weathered.
Fine and deep-set lines feather the outer edge of his dark eyes as he regards me with a squinted gaze. “I haven’t seen you in so long…” he says, as if we’re old pals. “Are you and—” he snaps his fingers “—what’s-her-name still friends?”
“Cameron,” I supply. I attempt to bend my lips into a smile. Not too bright; that appears odd, off-putting in these circumstances. Just enough of a smile to seem genuine. Interested. Not at all disturbed about this strange encounter. “And yes,” I lie. “We still talk.”
Torrance nods.
Rhys has coached me when it comes to dealing with suspects. How to be aware of your facial features—what resonates with people versus what alienates them. If only I could apply that to my writing, my editor would probably adore Rhys just as much as the rest of the female population.
I’m trying to focus on Torrance’s reaction to me rather than my internal thoughts on him. If he’s at all uncomfortable by my presence, he’s good at hiding it. He appears as laid back as the night Cam left with him from the Dock House.
“That’s good,” Torrance says. His gaze distractedly sweeps the Tiki Hive as patrons filter in from the beach. “What can I get you to drink? Water?” He gives me a quick wink.
I squint, trying to decipher if this is some kind of bartender humor. “Nothing. Thanks.” I brace my elbows on the bar top. “We won’t keep you long.”
Before I contact the boyfriend again, Rhys and I are fact checking. Getting both sides of the story from Kohen and the brothers.
“We just have a couple more questions to follow up on,” Rhys jumps in. “After speaking with Kohen, we learned that there were some issues taken with his schedule. Particularly his tardiness and missed days due to caring for his ill mother.”
Torrance pulls a face, looking befuddled. I wonder what Rhys reads there. “You’d have to ask Mike. It’s tricky, you know? You can’t just fire people these days. You have to have cause, or else they file unemployment.” He shrugs.
I try to imagine Torrance as the author of the notes. What motive could he have? Again, he wasn’t a suspect in my case. So if he didn’t write the first letter back then, it doesn’t make sense that he’d be the one sending them now.
But Mike... Maybe there’s something more to him—some sinister element that derives pleasure from the taunt. People get a rush out of true crime and inserting themselves into investigations. The notes could be just that; a false report. Like the prank calls to helplines.
Even as I think this, it feels wrong. The notes feel personal. Aimed at me and not the cases.
Rhys checks the time on his phone. “When does your brother come in today?”
Torrance leans against the bar top. “He has the day off, but he’ll be in first thing tomorrow.”
Officially done here, Rhys thanks Torrance for his time and we leave the Tiki Hive. “I think that’s as much as the brothers are going to offer up,” I say. “Time to question the boyfriend again.” I’m anxious to get an answer on Joanna’s feelings about her job.
“You make the call on that,” Rhys says, as we navigate the boardwalk. “Take good notes. I need to check in at Quantico.”
“You’re flying out?”
His lips thin. “Unfortunately, I have to. Although I really don’t like the idea of leaving you here even for a day.”
“Are you worried about the note?” I ask.
He drops the shades he bought at the hotel gift shop over his eyes, shielding himself from the sun and me. “Why don’t you go with me? Meet the team officially, in person. I can get you a visitor pass.”
I’ve come to learn that with Rhys, it’s more about what he leaves unsaid. “Have I ever done that?”
He smiles. The answer: no. He knows I’m not a people person.
“I could visit my parents,” I blurt. It just comes out. I try to school my features into a mask that doesn’t betray how uncomfortable that statement makes me feel.
I’m sure he can see right through me—but even so, most visits home make people uncomfortable. Me, for a number of reasons. I had always believed that once I left home for college—my brand-new start—I could escape Amber’s haunting memory that still hangs over our family like a storm cloud.
My parents visit me in Missouri, occasionally bringing my aunt along. Otherwise, I’ve barely seen her over the past fifteen years. We effectively evade each other. It’s best this way, because the pain I still register in her eyes when she looks at me, as if she’s searching for Amber somewhere within and coming up short… Well, some things are better left untouched.