Play It Again (12 page)

It all looks innocent. Just a regular
delivery.

The courier doesn’t hang around, turning
away, and moments later, he’s back in his van and pulling out of
the driveway.

Sighing, I stare at the screen for a second
before closing the app and stuffing my phone back in my pocket,
feeling my chest loosen slightly, though the urge to call her and
be sure everything’s okay winds through my gut.

I’m about to pull out my phone again and make
the call when Cruz pushes off the car and says, “Look who finally
decided to show up.”

Piper

The outside motion sensors start to beep and
I wince at the sound. My head is pounding so badly it feels as
though my brain is trying to fight its way out, thrashing against
my skull. After the beer I had here last night, mixed with more
beer and shots at the pub, and the nasty gash on the side of my
head, I’m not entirely surprised, but I really, really wish it
would stop.

Groaning, I let my head fall to the table
top, relishing the feel of the cool wood against my heated
forehead. First thing I’m doing when this is over is having all
those sensors pulled out. Seriously, motion sensors for outside are
the stupidest invention ever.

So damn loud.

“Somebody make it stop,” I whine, rolling my
head back and forth against the table. “Please.”

Pushing his chair back, Jimmy stands up. “I’m
on it,” he says, just as the doorbell rings in three quick shrills
of sound, and I whimper.

He jogs out of the kitchen without looking
back, and seconds later, I hear him punch in the code for the
alarm, silencing the beeps, and then the front door opens.

“Piper,” Kim hisses. I roll my head to the
side, glancing up at her noting her weary expression. “He’s
avoiding. I’m worried.”

I blink at her, drawing a blank. I have a
headache and I feel like I’m going to hurl again. I just can’t
drudge up the effort to figure out what she’s talking about.

“What?” I ask, swallowing hard, trying to
ignore the queasiness. Oh God. I probably shouldn’t have scarfed
down that huge plate of eggs and bacon and toast, but the water
stayed down, and so did the coffee, and my stomach was grumbling
for food.

“Tara,” she whispers. “She’s pregnant.”

“What?” I ask again, the high pitch in my
voice hurting my head even more. I pull myself up, sitting up
straight in my chair, gaping at her.

“That’s what the words were about last night
at the pub. He told me when we got back to my place.” She makes a
face at me, somewhere in between annoyance and pity, twisting her
napkin in her hands. “I know you’re feeling like shit right now,
but you need to talk to him. I’ve been trying, but he won’t listen
to me.”

Closing my eyes, I try to think.

“She’s pregnant?” I ask, swallowing again,
and Kim nods. “And he just … ran out of there when she told him?” I
shake my head, not quite believing it. “Holy crap.”

“Kim, mind your own goddamn business,” Jimmy
says, his voice cutting through the room like a serrated blade.
“Piper doesn’t need to hear about this shit right now.”

“I think I do,” I say, turning toward
Jimmy.

He doesn’t respond, but his icy eyes cut from
Kim to me, his face heating with anger. He holds my stare for a
long moment, his nostrils flaring, and his lips pulled tight. If I
didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d be freaking out right now. As
it is, I’m having a hard time not squirming under his glare.

Finally he says something.

“You got a package.”

“Jimmy,” I say softly, but stall, when his
eyes flare again.

I exchange a quick look with Kim, and she
shrugs helplessly.

Lots of help she is.

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I
glance back at Jimmy, meeting his angry eyes. Something isn’t right
here. This isn’t like Jimmy. Not at all. He’s one of the most
dependable people I know. He’s a good man, has a good heart. He
wouldn’t just walk out.

He wouldn’t.

For an instant I consider pushing the topic,
but the truth is, I’m just not feeling up to it, and clearly, he
isn’t either. “I get it. You don’t want to talk about it now,
that’s fine, but we’re going to talk about it.” Then, looking to
shift the subject to something less hostile, I lift my chin.
“What’s in the envelope?”

Jimmy doesn’t respond, instead, tearing into
the envelope, reaching in and pulling out a single sheet of paper.
He stares at it for a second.

Five … ten … fifteen …

His eyebrows dip, his face flushes red, and
he mutters, “Shit.”

“What is it?”

Silence.

Did he hear me? I open my mouth, about to ask
again, when Jimmy blows out a breath and I watch as he shoves
whatever was in the envelope back in place. He looks at me from the
corner of his eye, and I stiffen when I see his hand tighten
seemingly involuntarily on the envelope.

“What is it, Jimmy?” I ask again.

He bites his bottom lip, fiddling with his
lip ring, a sure sign that something’s making him uneasy. “I think
you should call Vance.”

“No, he’s busy with that detective,” I say.
“Just tell me what it is.”

He hesitates, glancing at Kim and she
shrugs.

“Just spit it out,” she says, her eyes
darting between us.

His hands clamp down even tighter on the
envelope, the paper crinkling in his grip. “It’s …” he starts, and
then stalls, letting out a hesitant breath. “It’s a photo of you
throwing up on the side of the road with Vance holding your hair
back and there’s a post-it note that says, ‘Last warning. Stay
away,’ stuck to it.”

“Let me see that,” I say, shoving my chair
back and jumping up so fast that I lose my balance, the floor
suddenly going wavy under my feet. My headache flares behind my
eyes, and Jimmy goes blurry before me.

Swaying on my feet, I reach out blindly for
the chair, needing something, anything to grasp onto.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jimmy asks, grabbing my
arm, steadying me.

“Pipes,” Kim calls, suddenly right in front
of me, hands on my shoulders, guiding me back. “Sit back down,
sweetie.”

My stomach rolls and clenches. I pull in a
harsh breath, shaking my head and flinching away from both of their
touches, my hand flying up to my mouth, and I bolt for the
bathroom.

Vance

I’m seated at a scratched and dinged-up
rectangular wooden desk with Wes, Jase, and Cruz hovering around
me. My elbows rest on the tabletop, my chin in my hands, and I’m
watching the split screen of feeds from the parking lot last
night.

After showing us where the digital feed dumps
its video footage on the computer, Sam took off out front to stock
the bar, leaving us to do our thing. It didn’t take long to cue up
the feed to the moment Piper’s truck pulled into the lot and we’ve
been watching for about ten minutes now, and so far, nothing.

“How long was she in there last night?” Cruz
asks, leaning in closer, studying the feed that shows the tailgate
of her truck.

“About an hour,” I say. “An hour and a half
max.”

“This angle sucks ass,” Jase grumbles.
“Unless the person approached her truck from the back end, we’re
not gonna see shit.”

He’s right. The blind spot is huge. If the
person was trying to hide from the camera, they could have moved in
from the street, loosened the bolts, and left without being
noticed. Except, if that were the case, it would make more sense to
screw with one of the front tires, not the back. Less of a risk
that way.

“There’s only an hour and a half of feed,”
Wes says, eyes glued to the screen. “We might get lucky.”

My cell phone buzzes with an incoming text
message, distracting me from the conversation, and I pull it out of
my pocket, glancing at the screen. It’s a message from Kim.

Kim: When are you coming back?

Me: Just got started here so probably an hour, maybe
two. What’s up?

Kim: Piper got a package. Sending you some pics
now.

I lean forward, pausing the video playback,
my eyes shifting from my phone to Cruz. He frowns at me. “What’s
going on?”

“Kim’s sending me pictures of whatever was in
that package,” I say.

Wes narrows his eyes at me. “What package?”
His tone is harsh, clearly unhappy that he’s only hearing about it
now.

“Same day courier showed up at her house just
before you guys got here,” I respond. “Jimmy answered the door,
signed for it, and the courier left.”

Wes nods, and his expression softens,
seemingly content with my response. He should be. He knows that if
I’d thought there was something
off
about the transaction, I
wouldn’t be here now.

My phone starts buzzing again and I quickly
tap on it, bringing up the first image. It’s a note, sloppily
handwritten, on what looks like a lime-green post-it note, and I
have to enlarge it to make out the words.
Last warning. Stay
away.

Frowning, I pull up the next image and my
stomach roils.
Sonofabitch.
It’s a shot of Piper and me from
last night just after the accident.

“The stalker was watching last night,” I say,
my voice a low snarl, my hand clenching tightly around the phone.
“He was fuckin’ watching and taking goddamn pictures while she
puked on the side of the road.”

“Send them,” Jase says, already digging his
phone out of his pocket.

I thumb my screen, sending the images in a
group text to the three of them. Phones chime and buzz, and a
second later a stream of curses fills the room as the guys study
the photos.

I tap out another message to Kim.

Me: She okay?

Her response is immediate.

Kim: I don’t know. She’s locked herself in the
bathroom. It sounds like she’s getting sick again.

Me: On my way.

Standing up quickly, I grimace at the stabs
of pain that shoot through my body. “I’m heading back to Piper’s,”
I say. “She’s locked herself in the bathroom.”

“I’ll follow you,” Cruz says. “I want to get
my hands on that package. We might be able to get some prints off
the photo or note.”

Glancing at Jase and Wes, I ask, “You two
mind sticking here and finish up watching the feeds?”

Jase nods, and Wes rolls his eyes as though
to say,
of course
.

“Sure,” Wes says. “We’ll finish it up.”

The drive from Piper’s house to Constant Pub
took me fourteen minutes. To get back, it takes me eight. I park my
car in the driveway, and I’m already halfway to the door, keys in
hand before Cruz even pulls in.

The alarm is off and the door is unlocked
when I make it there. Jimmy didn’t bother to reset it and lock up
after the courier. I push against it, shoving it open, not
bothering to close it with Cruz only a few seconds behind me.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall as I
move toward it.

“Vance, is that you?” Kim calls, her voice
sounding rattled. I don’t have a chance to respond, before she
appears in front of me, Jimmy on her heels. “I didn’t hear the
alarm.”

“That’s because Jimmy didn’t reset it,” I
grind out, glaring at him over her head. “He didn’t lock the door
either.” The guy has enough sense to look ashamed by the slip
up.

“Shit,” he says, as he looks around, looking
at everything except for me now. “Sorry.”

I shake my head, gritting my teeth against a
swell of annoyance. “Where is she?”

“She’s still in the bathroom,” Jimmy says.
“She won’t open the door.”

Before I can even respond to that, Kim’s
grabbing a hold of me, towing me down the hallway toward the main
bathroom.

“Can you pick the lock or something?” she
asks, a slight tremor in her voice. “She’s talking, but …”

“Kim,” I say, cutting her off, but keeping my
tone as gentle as possible. She’s stressing, on the verge of
all-out panic, and that’s the last thing Piper needs right now.
“Jake Cruz was right behind me. Why don’t you go on out there and
meet him. Give him the package, yeah?”

She looks at me with shock. “But Piper …”

“She’s gonna be fine,” I say firmly. “Go on
and meet Cruz.”

She hesitates, silence consuming the hall for
a second, before she finally nods and slowly turns away.

“What can I do?” Jimmy asks.

My response is immediate. “Go get her a glass
of water. She’s gonna need it.”

He heads to the kitchen without a word, his
footsteps hurried, and as he goes, I turn to the bathroom door,
lift my hand, and knock.

Piper

“Go away,” I growl, cracking my eyes open
and glaring at the door.

I swear between Jimmy and Kim, my headache is
never going to break. Their constant knocking, constant worried
shouts and questions are only making the pounding in my head
worse.

I’m lying on my back on the floor—the cool
tiles are a welcome relief against my heated skin—with a damp, now
lukewarm, cloth on my forehead.

I’m about to close my eyes, when the thumping
on the door comes again, louder this time, more demanding, and my
eyes snap wide open. “Open the door, freckles.”

Vance.

I close my eyes at the sound of his voice,
cringing. He sounds worried and pissed off. Really pissed off.

Sighing, I drag myself off the floor, using
the toilet seat and towel rod for support, and trudge across the
room, moving far slower than I want to.

It takes a few seconds of fiddling with the
lock, turning the little button in the knob this way and that,
before I finally manage to get the door open.

Vance stands on the other side in the
hallway, his expression drawn tight with concern. He doesn’t say
anything right away, his gaze raking over me, taking me in from
head-to-toe, before blowing out a long breath. “Piper …”