Page 64 of Paranoid

As she walked into the living area, Kayleigh heard the metallic sound of a zipper. She went directly to the front door, where her bicycle was propped against the wall, to wait. When she turned and saw him, dressed and carrying the running shoes he’d kicked off with such force one had hit the closet door, causing it to rattle, she felt her throat go dry.

She had loved him and a bit of her heart cracked.

But she didn’t want to remember their short period together, so she pushed any memories far into a dark corner of her mind as he sat on the edge of the couch and tied the laces, then slapped his legs and stood. His hair was still rumpled, the edges of his mouth remaining hard as he said, “Okay. Let’s go get your car.”

“Good idea.”

Minutes later he was driving her through the awakening town, a handful of cars rolling down the streets, headlights and taillights glowing through the heavy mist oozing in from the sea.

“I could buy us coffee,” he said, nodding toward a kiosk where cars were collecting near the corkscrew ramp leading to the bridge that seemed to disappear into the mist.

“Maybe another time.”

But they both knew it would never happen.

“Okay.” He pulled into the near-empty parking lot of the riverfront mall and parked. As she reached for the door handle, he said, “It was good to see you again, Kayleigh.”

“Yeah. You too.” She stepped outside before she said anything further, anything she might regret. “Thanks.”

He, too, had gotten out of the car, letting it idle. “Bye.”

She managed a quick wave, and as she unlocked her car, she wondered what the hell she was doing. What she’d done. What she’d wanted to do. She and McVey were long over; that romantic ship had foundered before it had ever really set sail. So why did she still feel a distant yearning? Why the hell had she so willingly—no, make that so urgently—made love to him?

Before the thought took root, she turned on her wipers and glanced in the rearview mirror, but his image was clouded by the condensation on the window.

“A good thing,” she decided. She could only make out his silhouette as he leaned against his car, watching her drive off. She caught a glimpse of her own troubled eyes in the reflection. “God,” she told the woman staring back at her, “for a smart woman you’re an idiot when it comes to men.”

Forget Travis McVey.

Oh, and while you’re at it? Forget Cade Ryder, too.

* * *

The downtown block seemed as lifeless and tired as Rachel felt late Saturday morning as she strode toward the newspaper office, determined to straighten out one thing in her life.

Time to face Mercedes and deal with the stupid articles she was running on Luke’s death.

God, why now?

Couldn’t Mercedes just let the past lie?

Of course not.

As the sky darkened, Rachel steeled herself, then pushed open the door to the newspaper office, on the first floor of a two-story downtown building. Some of the buildings on this block had been refurbished, but not the offices of the Edgewater Edition. The same gold logo was emblazoned on the glass window, and inside the faded wood floors and oversized desks that had been there when Rachel was a kid, visiting for a class field trip, were still in place, the large room separated by half walls of cubicles.

“Can I help you?” asked a girl working on a laptop at her desk. Her brown hair was cut short, her face round, and she smiled as she looked up.

“I’m here for Mercy,” Rachel said, not breaking her stride as she passed the young woman’s desk.

“Wait. You can’t go back there.”

“Don’t worry. We’re friends.” At least, we used to be, before she cracked open my worst nightmare and served it up to the whole damned town.

“But you’re not supposed to go back there.”

“It’s okay. Really. She wants to talk to me.”

“No worries,” came a voice from behind a screen. “I’ll handle it, Alexa.” Mercy’s head arose from the divider, a bland expression on her face as she tucked her reading glasses into her hair and motioned Rachel into the cubicle. “I’m surprised you came in.”