Page 11 of The Truth You Told (Raisa Susanto #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Shay

November 2009

Four years before the kidnapping

A strange man stood in Shay’s kitchen.

Shay didn’t stop to think or consider. She just reached for the wooden baseball bat she kept tucked into the corner near the couch.

The man hadn’t heard her come out of her room. Or if he had, he hadn’t turned. He simply stood at the sink, eating a piece of toast, shirtless and wearing nicely pressed khakis. The incongruity of it all broke the piece of Shay’s brain that wasn’t actively figuring out the best way to bust his skull in.

There was a small tattoo on his left shoulder blade, a design she couldn’t recognize, and he was smiling out the window as if watching something amusing.

The man wasn’t behaving like an intruder, but Shay wasn’t about to drop her guard. That would be the kind of stupid that got someone killed.

Her bare feet sank into a sticky patch of carpet where she’d spilled her soda the other day. The sensation reminded her that she had to give the whole place a deep clean, and she immediately shook her head at the thought. She needed to focus.

Shay crept up close while his attention was still locked on the window. When she got nearly within swinging distance, she raised the bat to her shoulder in the perfect stance. She’d played all four years on her high school’s softball team, not that there was a lot of competition.

Focus.

She shifted her weight, readying herself, but that’s when the squeaky tile they hadn’t gotten around to fixing gave away her presence. The man flinched, then turned, his eyes going wide. He held up his hands, palms out, in a universal gesture of peace.

Men lied, though.

“Who the hell are you?” Shay yelled. “You have three seconds before I crack your fucking skull open.”

“Jes-us.” That was Beau, the back door slamming behind him. In one smooth gesture, he plucked the bat out of Shay’s hands. “He’s going to think we’re feral.”

Before she could stop herself, she bared her teeth at her brother, snapped them a bit.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, and then pushed her toward her bedroom. “Pants might be nice.”

She glanced down to see she was in a T-shirt and boys’ briefs, which, when it came down to it, were more modest than a bikini, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t exactly want to give the stranger a free show.

Beau was still apologizing for her when she walked back into the kitchen, pulling on a pair of jean shorts. She hopped up on the counter and assessed the strange man with a new eye, now knowing he was at least an acquaintance of Beau’s.

He was objectively gorgeous, with thick honey-blonde hair that had lighter streaks in it from the summer. His face was that kind of symmetrical that scientists said babies came out of the womb preferring. His muscles had muscles, and she wasn’t sure she’d seen abs like that outside of a movie screen.

The man’s eyes—an incredible shade of blue that had probably inspired many a teen girl to sigh over her diary—dragged along her body in a similarly assessing fashion. Normally, she would prickle under that kind of gaze, but she’d felt plenty of stares in her life. His wasn’t predatory. It was more like he was checking for hidden weapons.

“Sorry,” she said, but she knew everyone in the room could hear she didn’t mean it. “Maybe you shouldn’t stand shirtless in random women’s homes at the ass crack of dawn, though.”

Beau groaned and ran a hand over his face. Again, he whispered, “Oh my god.”

But the man just laughed, an appealing, self-deprecating thing. “I’m not usually in the habit of acting like a creepy serial killer, but that’s a good note for any possible next time.”

Shay’s mouth twitched up, almost involuntarily. “Do you have a list, then? Of how not to be creepy?”

“One item so far,” the man said. “I’m sure you’d be a font of advice, though.”

“Here, drink your coffee.” Beau shoved a mug into Shay’s hands like a distraction but also like an apology. He’d made it just the way she liked it. “Sorry, I didn’t think we’d wake you.”

“It wasn’t you,” she said, gracious now that she had her caffeine. “Weird dream or something.” She turned her attention back to the man. “Why are you shirtless? It’s, like, nine in the morning.”

Not early for the general populace, of course, but for Shay, who’d closed the bar last night, it might as well have been dawn.

The man’s brows wrinkled. “Does the time have to do with whether that’s acceptable behavior or not?”

“Ah, research for your list, huh?” she asked, tapping her temple. “Smart.”

This sounded like flirting on the surface level, but it was the kind of flirting Shay did with the old men at the bar. Both sides knew there was no intent behind the teasing, so it became harmless fun.

“Shirtless is only okay in someone else’s home if it’s after noon and you’re day drinking,” Shay informed him. “It has to be both of those things together.”

“Or your dumbass friend spilled coffee all over you on the way to work,” Beau chimed in, rummaging through the closet that had probably been intended for coats. Instead, Beau hung all his nice shirts in there. He pulled one free and tossed it and an undershirt to his friend.

“My car’s in the shop, and Beau’s been giving me a ride, since I live about five minutes that way,” the man explained, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in some vague direction. He pulled the undershirt over his head, covering up the work of art that was his six-pack. Shay sighed in general disappointment. She might not be attracted to him—and she refused to think Callum Kilkenny was to blame for that—but she could still appreciate beauty when she saw it. “Most days I wouldn’t have minded the stain, but I have an important meeting. Beau said we could swing by here, though he didn’t mention the baseball bats.”

“Or crazy sister, I’m sure,” Shay said, finishing her coffee. “You work at the hospital?”

“Sometimes,” the man answered vaguely, and Shay shot a questioning glance at Beau.

But he didn’t offer any more information. Instead, he jangled his keys. “Hey, since you’re mostly awake, you want to ride in with us to visit Dad?”

Shay thought about what else she could do with the morning—namely, go back to sleep. But one look at Beau’s hopeful expression had her agreeing quickly.

“Yeah,” she said, hopping off the counter and heading to her bedroom to slip a bra on under her shirt.

“We’re late,” Beau called.

“Thirty seconds,” Shay promised, shoving her feet into a cheap pair of flip-flops. The weather might bend toward cold soon, but it wasn’t there yet. “Ta-da.”

Beau was scribbling a note for Max, who would probably still be asleep by the time Shay got back.

“How are you going to get home?” Beau’s friend asked, that same wrinkle between his brow that appeared whenever he was confused. It was weird that she knew something like that about him already.

“Taxi?” Shay said with a shrug. She didn’t bother to think through logistics that often. Things tended to work out for her.

“I’ll give you some cash,” Beau said quietly as they all skipped down the steps to Beau’s car.

She flushed a little at the idea that Beau’s friend-slash-coworker had probably heard that. Shay had always prided herself on being good with money. But twelve-year-olds grew at a ridiculously fast rate, ate an absurd amount of food, and always seemed desperate for the coolest thing all their friends had. She could swing unexpected taxi fare, but Beau probably had a slightly cushier rainy-day fund than she did.

Shay took the passenger seat without bothering to check with either one of them, and propped her feet on the dash. The window was already rolled down.

They listened to music on the way in, and didn’t talk at all. Shay wondered if that was their normal MO or if she was throwing off their dynamic.

She flicked her eyes up to the rearview mirror and found the man already watching her. Goose bumps bloomed over her skin, the fine hairs on her arms and neck rising as they went.

Shaking off the feeling, she slid her sunglasses into place and dozed for the remaining ten minutes.

Beau headed toward the psychiatric ward when they arrived, after some kind of complicated bro-hug thing and a wish of good luck to his friend. He ruffled Shay’s hair as he passed, and slipped her a twenty for the taxi. She pocketed it. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”

“Thanks,” Beau said, even though he’d probably visited Billy before leaving the day before, and honestly Billy was in no shape to understand even the simplest greeting.

Shay ended up riding in a painfully slow elevator with Beau’s friend.

“You’ve been in the area long?” she asked. She wasn’t the type who needed to fill silence, but she was actually interested. There was something fun about this guy, and the fact that he’d been able to easily banter with her even after she’d come after him with a baseball bat. Shay had always liked unruffle-able people. It was one of Callum’s best qualities.

“About a year,” he said.

“Where’d you come from?”

He slid her an assessing look. “Dallas.”

“Not far,” she said, leaning back against the elevator rails. The doors opened on the floor before Billy’s for no reason. She’d gotten used to that at the hospital, though. “Miss it?”

“Yes and no,” he said, turning toward her slightly. He didn’t seem bothered by the questions, just truly undecided on an answer. “It’s not ... much different. The area.”

“Texas is Texas is Texas,” she murmured, though she wouldn’t know. She’d only ever lived in Houston.

Still, he laughed. “True, true. And, well, I like the work here better. So.”

“What did you do back there?”

“Still social worker,” he said, with a little self-deprecating grin, seeming to acknowledge the fact that it couldn’t be that different. Usually men that handsome didn’t do self-deprecating well. “But it was with kids. I wasn’t good at it.”

“Really?” Shay asked, feeling like that confirmed the very uninterested vibes she was picking up. Had he wanted to hit on her, he probably wouldn’t have admitted to being bad with children.

“They all knew too much about violence,” he said, quietly, meeting her eyes like he knew her past. Like he knew Beau’s and Max’s as well. And maybe he did. How close were he and Beau? Or was it just obvious?

Shay looked away, and then the door opened. They both stepped off.

“I’ve got to run,” he said, tipping his head toward the hallway that led away from Billy’s room. “It was nice meeting you, Shay. Even under threat of baseball bats.”

“Hey, same,” Shay said, meaning it. “Maybe next time we’ll try it without the weapon involved.”

He laughed politely and then shifted toward one of the hallways.

“I didn’t get your name,” she realized, before he could walk out of sight.

“Oh.” He smiled. “It’s Nathaniel. Nathaniel Conrad.”