Lib Novel Page 48
“Don’t know; older Chinese lady, I think, but I’m not sure,” he replied. “She always wore a hat. Used to speculate with the waitress before you that they were having an affair or something.”
I didn’t know who the man was, but I clocked Lou’s words and squirreled them away to think about later. This could be a piece in the puzzle of the arson cases; and now that the arsonist had come directly to our front door, it was time to solve the case.
“Either way,” he finally said, squaring his shoulders with a resolve born from years of navigating the murky waters of our neighborhood, “it’s best to keep our eyes open around here.”
“Especially these days,” I agreed, feeling the weight of unspoken secrets heavy on my tongue.
Lou’s eyes softened, and his expression turned earnest. “You okay, Abby?” he inquired, concern creasing his forehead.
For a moment, the question hung in the air, heavy as the soot-laden curtains by the shattered window. My mind raced to the tense meeting I had earlier with an FBI agent whose glare could cut glass, the veiled threats hanging between us like cobwebs.
To the way my father had held me in his arms as I stopped myself from weeping.
To the scent of Taylor Matthews’ body decomposing in the composter down in the basement of Nathan’s home.
To the smell of Nathan himself; sharp and masculine, the feel of his hand gripping my face as he called me a whore. And then to the way he felt on top of me; violent and reverent, how powerful it made me feel to be the one to tame his need.
But none of that was for Lou’s ears.
“Of course,” I lied, forcing a smile that felt as fragile as the scorched orchids underfoot. I could almost hear my dad’s voice, thick with worry, urging me to be careful, but those fears had no place here, in Lou’s world of coffee beans and conspiracy theories.
“Are you sure?”
I swiped at my eyes, more from the sting of smoke than any real emotion. “I’m fine,” I insisted, managing a smile that felt like it cracked my face. Lou’s frown deepened, his gaze probing as if he could see through it all.
“Look, just… take care of yourself, okay?” He reached out as if to touch my arm but hesitated, his hand hovering in the air before retracting. “Your dad’s been poking around. Asking questions. He’s worried about you.”
“I know.” The words were soft, barely above the crackle of smoldering timber. “But this thing with Nathan…it’s intense.” I glanced away, toward the charred remains of what had been a vibrant display of flora only hours before. “I can handle it. I don’t want him—anyone—to interfere.”
“Abby, your dad—“ Lou began, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.
Before I could say anything else, a tap on my shoulder snapped me back to the present chaos surrounding the wreckage of Grant Avenue Floral. I turned, and there he was—Nathan, standing tall despite the soot on his face.
“Abby,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?” The question came out sharper than I intended, nerves dancing on edge after the encounter with Lou.
“Knuckles Chen,” Nathan gestured to a man approaching us, a grim smile on his face. He had the look of someone who’d lived through enough trouble to give him an air of danger—a sort of weathered charm—and his hands, I noticed, were marked with scars that told silent tales of past brawls.
“Kind of an uncle to me,” Nathan added, his words laced with a respect that bordered on reverence.
“Abigail Harper,” I offered, feeling the weight of Knuckles’ gaze appraising me as we shook hands. His grip was firm, assertive.
“Abby,” Knuckles corrected with a grin that didn’t quite reach his brown eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“From who?” My guard went up instantaneously.
“Let’s just say I keep my ears open,” Knuckles replied with a casual shrug. “Especially when it comes to the family business.” His words held an edge, like a knife hidden beneath a silk handkerchief. It was both a warning and an acknowledgment, spoken with a disarming ease.
“Well, I’m sure it’s a pleasure,” I kept the smile plastered on my face despite my racing heartbeat.
“Likewise. Nice to meet you. I have to go, however, got things to handle,” Knuckles replied.
“Keep me updated on the shop fires, will you?” Nathan’s request was casual, but the intensity in his black eyes betrayed the importance of the matter.
“Sure thing, Fangs.” Knuckles’ use of Nathan’s nickname felt like an inside joke I wasn’t privy to—a reminder of the history between these men that ran as deep and dark as the ink of Nathan’s dragon tattoo.
I watched Nathan closely, noting the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers drummed against his pants. His mind was working overtime, piecing together information I could only guess at. And then it hit me—the suspicion creeping into my thoughts like a shadow stretching across the room.