Chapter Eight
Cady’s eyes popped open, her breath whistling past her teeth as she startled awake. Not her room. Not her bed. Not her clothes. All at once it came flooding back like a vivid nightmare. The altercation in the parking lot, the blood. Dark eyes.
Ethan.
The man in question sat sprawled in a chair in the corner of the room, laptop perched precariously on his knee. His head tipped forward, eyes closed. He’d showered and changed into a pair of faded jeans and an open button up shirt over a white wifebeater. He’d even shaved. It made him look younger, more normal, she supposed. If a guy who’d taken a knife in the side and walked around the next morning could be called normal.
Was it morning? The last thing she remembered was waking him up to check on his wounds just after six, but the sun blazing through the windows told her it was much, much later. Late afternoon, maybe three or four? How had she ended up in his bed?
Shifting slightly, Cady sat up, pushing the tangle of hair out of her face. His head snapped up at the movement, eyes instantly alert and clear, muscles tensed for danger like a jungle predator. “Hi,” she said softly, not sure what mood she’d find him in. Hadn’t he been asking her to leave?
“You’re awake,” he stated unnecessarily, proving his mind wasn’t quite as caught up as his body’s instincts.
“Yep, looks that way.” He didn’t reply to that. Taking it as a bad sign, she swung her feet to the floor. “I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.” Cady looked up to find him blocking her path.
“Hey, slow down, take it easy. You’ve been out of it all day. How are you feeling?”
Surprised at the genuine concern she found, Cady did a quick check, flexing her arms and legs. “I’m… okay, I think.” Remembering the spreading wound at her collarbone, she tugged at the t-shirt, but it was hard to get a good look at it. “What happened?”
“You had a bit of an infection, but it’s better now. Are you thirsty? You must be.”
“Yes,” she swallowed. “I could use a drink. Anything but that tea. No offense, but it’s gross.”
“You drank some?” he frowned, surprised.
“Just a sip, why?”
“No reason. Stay there, I’ll bring you some water.”
“Okay, thanks.” Cady settled back against the bed again, fluffing the pillows to a comfortable reclined position. Gingerly, she probed the skin around her neck and shoulder, but there was just a hint of tenderness, the scab a thin purple line. Maybe she’d just dreamed that part up? Maybe she’d dreamed it all up? Maybe she’d hooked up with Ethan at Inferno and was sleeping off a massive hangover? He sure didn’t move like a man who’d been brutally stabbed. The bed showed no bloodstains on the sheets. Or had he just changed them while she slept?
“Here you go.” Ethan offered the tall glass, tap water, but Cady didn’t care. It tasted cool and sweet, and she gulped it all down without stopping to breathe. “I’ll get you another glass.” He reached to take it from her and Cady caught his hand.
“What’s this?” she frowned, turning it over. An intricate tattoo covered the back of his hand, disappearing under the sleeve of his thin, cotton shirt. He hadn’t had a tattoo the night before, she was sure of it.
His lips moved, but she didn’t hear what he said until he turned his head away. “It’s nothing.”
“No… hold on a sec. Seriously, where did this come from?” The glass forgotten, she tugged at the loose sleeve, noticing how the design curved, coiling around the inside of his arm as it continued up towards his bicep.
“It’s just a tattoo, it’s not a big deal.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree with you, but you did not have this last night.”
“Of course I did.” Ethan laughed weakly.
Cady tugged at his shirt, practically tearing it from his shoulders. “What the…?” There were more of them. Another tattoo on his shoulder, and another peeping from the neckline of his undershirt, over his right pec.
“I told you, they’re just tattoos, it’s not a big deal.” He tugged his shirt free from her grasp, wadding it up and tossing it into the hamper in the closet.
“But where did they come from?”
“Where do you think? The tattoo parlor. Where did you get yours?” he challenged.
Cady didn’t even bother to glance down to the butterfly she had tattooed near her left wrist. “You seriously expect me to believe I just missed them last night?” She’d seen every inch of his exposed torso. Maybe she’d been too freaked out to get a good look at his back, but his arms and chest? Definitely not. “What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he scowled. “I didn’t rush out and get tattooed today.”
“I’m not saying you did.”
“What are you saying then?” His blue eyes hardened to an icy stare.
“I don’t know.” Cady fell back against the bed, hating that she couldn’t articulate the suspicion and frustration bubbling in the back of her brain. The past twenty-four hours had been weird, but how could she not have noticed them?
Ethan left the room, clutching the glass. The sound of running water floated back to her, but he didn’t reappear with a refill. “If you’re feeling better, you should probably head on home,” he called from the kitchen.
“That didn’t take long,” she muttered, letting out a long breath. Pushing herself out of bed, Cady found she was a little lightheaded, like she needed to eat, but otherwise fine. “You seem to be feeling much better yourself,” she commented, leaning against the breakfast bar while he washed, dried and put away the glass. “Do you want to tell me why that is?”
“I told you, I’m a fast healer.” He didn’t bother to turn around, and she could see the tension in his shoulders.
Whatever was going on he wasn’t talking, so she switched to the next sensitive subject to see how he reacted. “We should probably figure out what we’re going to tell the police.”
That made him stop and turn around. “No police.”
“But they’ll be investigating what happened in that parking lot. There’s bound to be evidence linking us there. Cameras on the streets, maybe a witness. You bled at the scene for chrissakes.”
“This isn’t CSI: San Francisco. Trust me, there’s nothing to link either one of us to that parking lot.”
He sounded awfully confident of that fact, but knowing a little something about the dogged determination of the police, she had to disagree. “It’ll be a lot worse if they come to us before we go to them. As long as we tell the truth we’ll be fine.”
“Is that what you think?” he snorted.
“Of course I do. You saved me, there’s nothing bad about that. Sure, we should have stuck around, but…”
Ethan cut her off, surprising her with his capitulation. “You’re right. Go ahead, call the cops. Tell them I forced you away from the scene at gunpoint. Tell them anything you want.” He brushed past her, retrieving a beat up, brown suitcase from the hall closet. “I won’t be here by the time they come.”
He meant it, she could tell. “What’s going on?” she demanded, following him into the bedroom. Ethan ignored her, and she caught at his arm. “Tell me.”
“I can’t tell you,” he said, easily shaking off her grip. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you?”
“You already have,” Ethan allowed, a flicker of amusement lighting his features, replaced by a tightening of the lips as he returned to packing with neat precision.
Cady watched him, for the life of her unable to figure out what he was running from. “It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help, you know.”
“I’m not weak.”
“You’re kinda missing the point.” A roll of the eyes was given. “I’m not calling the police, okay? So you can stop packing up your sad little suitcase.”
“My suitcase isn’t sad,” he frowned, puzzled by her word choice.
“Fine, it’s not sad, but you are,” she observed. It was easy to miss underneath the scowling and bluster, but it was there. “Why are you so sad?”
Ethan turned to her, his head canting to one side, as if he hadn’t understood the words. “Do you always ask this many questions?”
“Yes.” She’d been fearless in that regard for as long as she could remember and her father had encouraged the trait. How else was she supposed to find anything out?
“Are you sure about not calling the police? I can understand if you feel like you owe them something. You don’t, by the way, they won’t find out who killed that man. What really happened to him had nothing to do with you or me.”
“Will you explain what that means?”
“It’s better for you if I don’t.”
It killed her not to know. The rational part of her brain understood he was trying to protect her, not draw her in any deeper to whatever he was caught up in. She didn’t care about her own safety, she needed to know. But Cady recognized that he’d take the answers with him if she forced his hand and sent him packing. It went against everything she believed in, but she nodded slowly. “I’m sure. I won’t tell them or anyone else about what happened last night.”
“It’s your only chance to go to them, you understand that, right?” Ethan set down the shirt in his hand and asked her earnestly. “After this, they’ll want to know why you didn’t report it right away. They’ll start to wonder what you’re hiding. They’ll find out that we’re neighbors. Maybe someone saw us together at the club last night. They’ll decide maybe I had you lure him out into the open. Maybe I’m your pimp and the trick wouldn’t pony up the cash? Or maybe it was a straight up roll gone bad? Whatever crazy scheme they decide fits the crime, they’ll try to make it stick.”
“It’s not like that…” Cady blanched. “They would never…”
Ethan held up his hands in a supplicating gesture. “I’m just saying I’ve seen it before. Clear whatever stardust you have covering your eyes over your papa’s noble profession. In the real world, it’s all about arrest rates. Convictions are someone else’s problem. And don’t get me started about justice.”
“I understand,” she said softly. “I won’t go to the police, I promise.” Not that she believed his cynical view of law enforcement, but she understood well enough that if she delayed, it would only throw her statement under more scrutiny. “Just promise me you won’t go running off to God knows where.”
“God wouldn't know where,” he muttered, closing the suitcase flap.
“What?” she blinked.
“Nothing. Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you really should head home. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your help, but as you can see, I’m better now and I have work to do.”
“Work that is like a cop, but not.”
“Right.”
Cady followed him back into the living room, but settled onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar instead of heading for the door. “If that guy is dead, why do you still have so much work to do? Doesn’t getting stabbed call for a sick day?” She wasn’t sure why she pressed him when he so obviously wanted her to leave, but something made her push back.
“Because that’s not the only bad guy in the city. And I don’t need to take a sick day, I feel fine.”
“That’s the best time to take a sick day,” Cady beamed. “Why don’t you let me dazzle you with my microwaving skills and we can watch a movie?” She looked at his TV with undisguised longing.
“A movie.”
“Yeah, you know, moving pictures? Don’t tell me you’re not a fan, I saw your DVDs. I would kill for a collection like that. So, how about it?” She gave him her most winsome smile, knowing full well it suffered for not having showered or brushed her teeth yet.
“Cady… it’s not a good idea.”
Despite his words, she could tell he was starting to cave from the tone of his voice, and she closed in for the kill. “I’ll even let you pick out the movie. Do you want some popcorn, or something more substantial?” Without waiting for his response, she went for the kitchen pantry, unerringly going for the box of popcorn she’d seen in there before. Ethan stared at her helplessly, but he didn’t object when she tore open the box, or popped the package in the tiny microwave.
While it cooked, she disappeared into the bathroom to scrub her face and brush her teeth with a finger. The hair was hopelessly tangled, so she wound it back up into a knot, not looking forward to combing it out later. The rest of her didn’t smell too badly and she changed back into her own clothes that were still hung up to dry in the bathroom. The mark on her shoulder was nothing more than a thin red line, no sign of any infection or even a scab.
Her phone had seven texts from Ian and three missed calls. Ouch. Cady debated calling him, but she was pretty sure she’d hear him yelling through the walls. Instead she sent a brief text. Relax, I’m fine. See you later tonight. Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she heard a thump, like something slamming against the wall next door. Yep, better to let him cool off a bit more.
By the time she came back out Ethan stood in front of one of the bookcases, a few DVD’s pulled out an inch or so. Not bothering to hide her smile, she emptied the popcorn into a large bowl. Searching for, but not finding napkins, she grabbed a paper towel and tore it in two. Cady poured him a glass of iced tea and a glass of water for herself, juggling them all to set on the coffee table.
With his back to her, she could see the dark shapes of at least two more tattoos on Ethan’s right shoulder blade, as well as a column of strange symbols down the center of his back through the thin undershirt. There wasn’t a spot of color on any of the tattoos, they were all done in rich black, the style vaguely similar to tribal tattoos she’d seen before. Leaning forward, she studied the strange designs that almost reminded her of a foreign script, unlike any she’d ever seen before.
They could have been there the night before, she’d been more focused on his injuries than his back, but she was still convinced there was something strange going on with them. She’d examined his hand carefully because of the stab wound. There hadn’t been any tattoos there at the time. None that she could see anyway.
“Alright,” Ethan said abruptly, rubbing his hands together as he turned to face her. “I picked out a few for us to choose from. Are you more in the mood for action, or more of a thriller?”
“I’m ready for whatever you throw my way,” she smiled, arching her brow with a tilt of the head.
“So I’m learning.”