Where One Goes(12)

“This is my other best friend . . . besides George,” Ike explains, his arms crossed, glaring at Sniper. “We were in the military together.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sniper. I’m Char. And I’m not overly sensitive, but if you touch me inappropriately, I’ll bust your kneecaps out.” I beam a friendly smile as Sniper’s eyes flicker. I think I just excited him.

“He’s a sick f*ck, Charlotte. He likes pain.”

“Pretty and violent. I think I just met my soul mate,” he growls as he steps toward me, a look of heat and lust in his gaze. He’s still holding my hand. “You’re the town gossip, pretty thing. You know . . . mysterious lass rolls into town in the middle of the night.”

“Not much mystery here, I’m afraid.” I laugh nervously.

Sniper squeezes my hand and his gaze locks on mine. “I have a sense of these things. You’re something special,” he whispers as he leans in and I swallow hard. He smells really freaking good.

“And you should know you’ll be walking knee-deep in bullshit every time he’s around. He’s a bit of a ladies’ man,” Ike says, as he rolls his eyes.

Taking my hand from Sniper’s, I say, “Thanks. I guess.”

“Sniper!” George calls, and he’s almost burning a hole through us as he stares. “Get back to work!”

“Don’t let George be too much of a wanker to you. He’s going through some shit. You need anything, come to me, lass. I’ll take good care of you.” He winks and walks away. “George, you need to get laid!” he yells before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Sod off,” George laughs as he grabs the remote and turns the volume on the television up. When my gaze meets the screen, I nearly keel over.

“Police have found the body of twenty-one-year-old Casey Purcell under a bridge just outside Charlottesville.” My throat seizes with pain as I swallow hard and my eyes widen as I watch the screen. The reporter continues. “Detective Andrews received an anonymous letter stating there was a body under the Ukon Bridge. Police retrieved the body and DNA testing is being done, but authorities believe it could be the body of missing UVA student Casey Purcell. At this time, detectives are asking anyone with information to call the number at the bottom of the screen. A tire track was found and police are currently studying video footage from a local gas station to see if there are any matches.”

Fucckkkkkk. . . .

“Are you okay?” Ike asks, and I nod yes way more vigorously than I should. They’re going to find me. I’m a suspect.

“Is there a problem, Charlotte?” George calls. I quickly snap to and smile brightly.

“No. No problem,” I shake off the anxiety blanketing me. Calm down, Char. You didn’t kill her, so even if they find you, you have nothing to worry about. I take a deep breath and try to relax.

“You sure about that?” Ike asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Come here, please,” George motions a hand and I make my way toward him. His shaggy hair sits just over his eyes and his tight, black Ike and George’s shirt shows off his hard build. I haven’t seen him smile once all day, but when the woman in front of him says something, he actually laughs.

“Oh, shit,” Ike groans.

George is leaned over the bar in front of an older woman with dark, shoulder-length hair. She has a gray streak through the front and rich brown eyes. I approach George and he straightens to a full stance and motions to the woman before him. “Charlotte, this is my mother, Beverly. She helps with the books here. Just thought I’d introduce you so if you see her in here you know who she is.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. McDermott.” I offer my hand and she takes it with a friendly smile.

“As it is you, Charlotte. What a pretty name.”

“Call me Char, please.”

“Of course. I hear you’re new in town. How do you like Warm Springs so far?”

“It’s really nice,” I say, politely. I mean, I don’t have anything bad to say about it . . . yet.

“Well, since you’re new in town and working for my son, I think you need to come to my house for Sunday dinner.” I can literally feel George tense up beside me. I open my mouth to protest, but she adds, “I won’t take no for an answer, either. Do you like lasagna?”

“Um . . .”

“With garlic bread and tiramisu,” Ike purrs. “God, I miss my mama’s cooking.”

I don’t know what to say, so without thinking, I steal Ike’s words. “With garlic bread and tiramisu.”

Beverly stills, her eyes meeting mine before darting back to George. Shit. Why did I say that?

“Uh, I didn’t think you’d repeat that. That was my favorite meal. She made it for every birthday and every time I came home on leave.”

“Well,” she says, softly, her eyes welling with tears. “I actually make a wonderful tiramisu.”


“No. I didn’t mean for you to make it. I just . . .” I shake my head, unable to finish the sentence. Oh God, I just reminded her of her dead son, and now she’s crying. I am such an *.

“Sunday it is,” she states. “George, why don’t you pick her up and bring her with you?”