Lucian held up his palms, the picture of innocence. “I can’t help it if information falls into my lap.”
“What kind of information?”
“The kind that summarizes your dashcam footage.”
My jaw clenched. It was more of a reflex than any real emotion. “That leak better not have come from my end.”
“It didn’t,” he assured me.
“You remember anything yet?” Knox demanded.
I stared at the bottles behind the bar. People drowned themselves in those bottles daily to numb the pain, the fear, the discomfort that life doled out. Some numbed themselves in even more dangerous ways. Some never surfaced.
But I was already numb. I needed to feel. And no amount of alcohol was going to help me dig my way out of this all-consuming emptiness. There was only one thing that could. One woman that could.
“No,” I said finally.
I could feel Knox and Lucian communicating silently.
“You think about talking to one of those, uh…therapists?” Knox choked out.
Lucian and I both swung our heads in his direction and stared.
“Oh, fuck you both. Naomi suggested it. I’m man enough to admit it’s not a horrible idea…if you don’t mind spilling your guts to a complete stranger. It’s not like Dad gave us any kind of healthy coping tools.”
“I did see a shrink. Department requirement,” I reminded him.
“Trauma has a way of damaging memory,” she’d said. “In some cases victims never get those memories back.”
Trauma. Victims. They were labels I’d spent an entire career applying to others. My own label, “hero,” had been peeled off and replaced with “victim.” And I didn’t know if I could stomach it.
“I see a therapist,” Lucian announced.
Knox straightened. “See? As in present tense?”
“Occasionally. I was much younger and less…interested in the law when I started seeing him to get access to his patient records.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Nolan lifted his bottle of beer in a silent toast.
“Can we not talk about this or any other hypothetical crimes with a U.S. marshal twenty feet away? You two can’t be playing goddamn Scooby-Doo in the middle of a federal investigation.”
“I’m offended,” Lucian announced.
“You be offended. I’ll be pissed the fuck off,” Knox decided.
I picked up my beer even though I didn’t want it. “And what do you find so offensive?”
“That you doubt my abilities.”
To be fair, Lucian was practically a corporate 007. Except for the fact that he was American, preferred bourbon to martinis, and worked in the cutthroat world of political consulting, which probably did bear certain similarities to international espionage.
He was tight-lipped on the specifics of exactly what his company did for its clients, but I didn’t have to be a genius to guess that it wasn’t all aboveboard.
“I don’t know about your abilities. But I do know that out of the three of us, you’re the only one to do actual jail time.”
It was a low fucking blow and we all knew it. Hell, I wanted to punch myself in the face for it.
“I’m sorry, man,” I said, digging my thumb into the spot between my eyebrows. “I’ve got a short fuse these days.”
My patience had most likely bled out of me along with that pool of O negative on the side of the road. This was why I didn’t want to be around people.
He held up a hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”
“No. It’s not. You’ve always been there for me, Lucy, and I’m being a petty asshole taking a swipe at you. I’m sorry.”
“If you two start hugging it out, I’m leavin’，” Knox threatened.
To spite him, I wrapped Lucian in a bear hug. My shoulder sang, but in almost a good way.
Lucian thumped me on the back twice. I knew we were just fucking around with my brother. But there was something steadying about my oldest friend’s instant forgiveness. It paled in comparison to the anchoring heat Lina’s touch stirred in me. But it still meant something.
We turned back to Knox, grinning.
“You takin’ your beer to go?” I asked him.
“Assholes,” Knox muttered.
“I am sorry, Lucy,” I said again.
“You’re forgiven. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Is that why you’re hanging around in town on a Monday night instead of running your evil corporate empire?”
My friend’s lips quirked.
“Seriously, man, if you’re in town just to keep an eye on me, I’ve already got an armed mustache up my ass,” I said, nodding in the direction of Nolan. “You don’t need to camp out here and lose all your money.”
“Running an evil corporate empire means having a team in place to pick up the slack when I’m otherwise engaged.”
“You’re not making that commute up here every day are you?” Traffic in northern Virginia was its own special ring of hell.
Knox snorted. “Don’t get all teary-eyed over the gesture. The empire has a helicopter. Luce is just using you as an excuse to play with his toy.”
“Just don’t land it on the roof of the elementary school. I don’t need the feds, the U.S. marshals, and the FAA up my ass.”
“How are the wedding plans going?” Lucian asked, changing the subject.
“Can you believe Daze was thinking white linen on the tables? I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s a Knockemout party, we’re gonna be spillin’ shit all night long. I don’t want our reception lookin’ like the tables are covered in some murdered bed wetter’s sheets.”
My brother certainly knew how to paint a picture.
“So what did you decide to go with?” Lucian asked.
“Navy blue,” Knox said proudly.
“Nice,” Lucian said with an approving nod.
“By the way. You both are groomsmen.” My brother looked at me. “I guess you can be my best man.”
I made it an hour and fifteen minutes and was damn proud of myself. I’d nursed the second beer, made mostly the right responses, and said my goodbyes when Naomi called Knox to tell him Waylon had chased after the skunk he had a crush on and gotten sprayed. Again.
We said our goodbyes and I tried not to make it look like I was bolting for the door.
I even paused at Nolan’s table where he was shrugging back into his coat.
“I’m walking the ten feet to my door. I think I can survive it on my own,” I told him.
“Your call, Chief. Try not to end up in the gutter full of holes.”
“I’ll do my best,” I lied.
I ducked out into the crisp night, the door closing behind me on the light and the music. Something didn’t feel right. Standing here under the streetlight, mere feet from my front door, I felt exposed, vulnerable, on edge. Something or someone was out there.
Was it him? Had Duncan Hugo come back to finish the job? Or was it all in my imagination?
I cast a glance up and down the street, looking for the source of the doom that settled over me.
My hands began to tingle. It started in my palms and rolled into my fingers.
“Fuck. Not now,” I whispered under my breath. “Not here.”