Wet (Elemental 1) (17 page)

“‘Pretty good’?” Georgia repeated slowly, focusing her full
attention on her friend. “So it could’ve been better? Or are you trying to
downplay it so I don’t ask too many questions?”

That’d be the one,
Brooke thought fleetingly before she turned to lift an eyebrow at the other
woman. Deciding to be as honest as she could—or at least as honest as she
needed to be—she said, “Sure it could’ve gone a
little
better. Blake ended up not feeling all that great, so we
turned in a little earlier than we’d wanted.”
There, that was complete truth.

Georgia’s grin faltered. “Oh. Well, that’s depressing.”

Brooke opened her mouth to agree, since it was something
else she could be honest about, but before a sound could come out, the door
opened again and Paula stepped in. The look on the older woman’s face was
enough for Brooke to suck in a breath.
She
saw.

“So, Brooke,” Paula began with a knowing smile. “Is
something wrong with your car?”

Brooke swallowed and shook her head slowly. “No, my car’s
fine.”

Georgia’s confusion was evident in her voice as she asked,
“Why would anything be wrong with her car?”

Before Brooke could say anything, Paula replied, “Well,
that was my natural assumption when I saw Blake dropping her off this morning.”

Turning wide eyes to Brooke, Georgia said, “I thought you
said he wasn’t feeling well?”

“He wasn’t,” Brooke assured her, cringing internally. The
rumors were bound to be flying by the end of the hour. “It’s just that … we
were out when he started feeling off, and I personally hate being alone when I
feel bad, so I offered to keep him company. We stopped by my place, I picked up
a change of clothes, and then I actually drove him home.”

Both women were silent for a moment, apparently deciding
whether or not they believed her words. Fortunately, it seemed there was enough
truth in the words to convince them. She just didn’t have the energy for
gossip.

Paula accepted her answer with a nod and a grin. “I assume
he’s feeling better this morning?”

“Yes,” Brooke replied easily. “All he needed was a good
night’s sleep.”

“Good,” Paula said.

Seeing an opportunity to change the subject, Brooke waited
only a moment before asking a question of her own. “Um, Paula … what happened
with Ed?”

Georgia froze again, her eyes moving between them but the
rest of her remaining completely still. Her interest was obvious.

Paula sighed, planting her hands on her hips. “Damned if I
know,” she replied. “I chased him down, but all he did was yell and rant about
how much he hates this place, so I lost my temper and told him never to come
back.”

Slowly, Georgia asked, “Do we have anyone to take his
place?”

It was Brooke’s turn to remain silent as she watched her
supervisor.

“No,” Paula declared somberly with a shake of her head.
“For now, me and Earl are
gonna
help out, but we need
to start looking. None of the other kids in the kitchen are comfortable
stepping in—and that’s just the ones that are qualified.”

Brooke and Georgia exchanged a look in silence. Nothing
good could come of having no chef.

Paula released another sigh and dropped her arms. “Don’t
you two worry about any of that nonsense,
though.
Me
and Earl are
gonna
sit down tonight and figure out if
we might know someone interested. We’ll have a new chef before you know it. Now
get out there and keep our customers happy in the meantime!” With a laughing
wink, Paula turned and whisked from the room.

After a long moment, Georgia said, “Well, I for one am not
going to worry. Everything happens for a reason, right? See you out there!” And
then she followed after Paula and slipped from the room.

Brooke sighed and quickly finished securing her apron. She
hoped Georgia and Paula were right, but even if they were, they were bound to
be running a bit slower than usual. And days were always longer when they were
running slower.

****

“I feel like we’re being stalked,” Dean grumbled as he
paced by the large, elaborate fireplace in his parents’ living room once more.

Blake sighed and leaned back into the couch. “Tell me about
it.”

Angela scrunched her face thoughtfully and said, “It seems
to me whoever’s doing all of this must be a large family, then. I mean, they’d
need to have enough people to actually follow all of us around at any given
time, right?”

“But if they are stalking us,” Nate interjected, leaning
forward from his own seat on the couch, on the other side of Angela from Blake.
“Then how come we haven’t spotted anyone? I mean, even if they switched it up
every day, by now you’d think they’d have had to recycle a few times, and we
should’ve noticed someone following us. Or, what, are they invisible?”

“I don’t think they’re invisible,” Christopher replied with
a shake of his head.

“There must be something we’re missing,” Logan declared
gravely, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned into the couch.

“All right,” Christopher agreed. “Let’s back up. Blake, how
many people knew about your date beforehand?”

Blake hesitated. “That’s hard to say. I didn’t tell anyone
who isn’t in this room, but Brooke has friends at the diner, she could have
mentioned it to Georgia and Georgia could’ve told … anyone.”

“Or someone could have just overheard her mention it,”
Angela said. “Eric and I were at the diner yesterday, when Ed quit. And I asked
her about your date. There were other tables nearby, someone could have been
listening.”

Nate sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “So
we’re back to ‘it could be anyone’.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Fantastic,” Dean growled. As he paced past the fireplace
again, the small, crackling flame flickered and flared for a moment.

“From now on,” Lillian declared, speaking for the first
time in several minutes, “no matter what time it is or what you think we might
be doing, whenever one of us is attacked in any way, we need to call at least
one other person in this family. This is as much to check in and let the rest
of us know what’s going on as it is to make sure everyone is accounted for.”

“Your mother’s right,” Christopher agreed somberly. “We’re
still not playing it safe enough.”

One by one, the children nodded their agreement. Their
father’s words were obviously true—there was no point in trying to argue.

“And absolutely
no
skipping family dinners,” Lillian added pointedly. “In fact, Blake, why don’t
you bring Brooke over this weekend?”

Blake tried not to feel particularly flustered by the idea
of bringing his girlfriend home for dinner so early in their relationship, and
he failed spectacularly. “I’ll invite her.”

Dean smirked, seemingly forgetting his anger for the
moment. “How’d the rest of your date go?”

“Oh no!” Angela interrupted quickly, launching to her feet.
“If the family meeting’s over, I’m going upstairs. I don’t need to hear this!”

Even as Angela darted to the stairs, and Nate chuckled,
Blake shook his head and said, “Not the way you’re thinking, obviously. But it
went fine, given the circumstances.”

“So when are you seeing her again?” Nate asked, joining in
on Dean’s fun.

“This afternoon, when I pick her up from work,” Blake
replied, his voice slightly firmer than he’d expected.

“Okay, boys,” Christopher interrupted with a laugh. “Leave
your brother alone. You don’t want him turning the tables on you someday, do
you?”

“Ah, come on,” Nate returned with a mock-whine. “How often
do we get to pick on Blake?”

Blake pushed to his feet. “Not nearly as often as I get to
pick on you.” Switching his focus to his parents, he added, “I’m going to go.
But I’ll ask Brooke if she wants to come to dinner Saturday.”

“Be careful,” Lillian called as he started down the hall.

Blake kept his sigh to himself until he was safely seated
in his car. As it slipped free, he leaned back and let his head fall against
the headrest. It really didn’t make any sense. They really
should
have noticed if someone was following them.
But, what, did they just happen to be
walking down that gravel road last night? Or by the creek when Angela was
walking home? And that wouldn’t explain the incident at Brooke’s apartment at
all.
In his mind, there was no way this was all coincidence.

Muscles tense, Blake reached up and started the car. As he
gripped the steering wheel, his mind still going over what little they knew, he
cursed under his breath. They needed to figure this out, and put an end to it,
before one of them really got hurt. And before anyone else got dragged into it
unnecessarily. In the meantime, he could only hope he’d be able to keep Brooke
out of danger.

****

“So, is it true?” Clarabelle
Buchannon
asked in an uncharacteristically conspiratorial tone after Brooke had taken her
order. She leaned forward just slightly, letting her elbows rest on the table.

Brooke lifted a curious eyebrow. “You’ll have to be more
specific, Clare.”

“About Ed,” Clarabelle elaborated quietly. “I heard that
yesterday, he just stormed out of here and no one knows why. And then, about an
hour ago, I heard someone saw a U-Haul in his driveway.”

Brooke’s eyes widened. “The part about yesterday is
definitely true,” she replied. “I was here when it happened, and it was
incredibly awkward. But I haven’t heard anything else.”

Clarabelle sat back, her fingers absently drumming along
the table. “That’s so strange. I hope something’s not wrong with him.”

“Yeah,” Brooke agreed. She might not have approved of his
outrageous exit, but she certainly didn’t wish the man any ill. And then an
idea struck her, inspired by the lingering twist in her gut, and Brooke shifted
ever so slightly and lowered her voice. “Hey, Clare, can I ask you an odd
question?”

It was Clarabelle’s turn to arch a slim eyebrow, but she
nodded anyway. “Of course.”

Gesturing as subtly as possible to the corner booth a
little behind her, Brooke asked, “See that man over there? Do you happen to
know who he is?”

Clarabelle’s eyes flicked past Brooke for a long moment,
and her lips curved into a frown before she looked back and slowly shook her
head. “No, I don’t know anything about him. But I’ve seen him around town, just
here and there, for probably about a month.” She paused, lowering her voice
even more, and looked away with an almost guilty expression. “Truthfully, he
gives me the creeps.”

Brooke was glad to hear it wasn’t just her, but at the same
time she was concerned. Clarabelle was the town sweetheart; she loved
everybody
. And even she was freaked out
by the man currently sitting in the back booth. The same man that had given
Brooke such a funny look at the beach only a handful of days ago.

Looking back up, Clarabelle asked, “Why?”

“I’ve seen him around a little, too, and I feel the same
way. I guess I’m just curious is all.”

With a natural smile, Clarabelle said, “Well, if I hear
anything, I’ll let you know.”

Brooke nodded. “We have a deal, Ms.
Buchannon
.
I’ll be back with your drink in a minute.” Brooke turned, still keeping her
back to the man’s booth, and made her way to the drink station.

Georgia followed her in almost immediately. “Did you
notice? That weird guy who was with Emma before is back,” she said in a hushed
voice.

Brooke did her best to suppress an almost sarcastic smile.
“Yeah, I noticed. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad he’s at your
table and not mine.”

Now standing directly beside her at the station, Georgia
said, “That’s the weirdest part. Shelly said he specifically asked
not
to be seated with you.”

Her hand halfway to the straws, Brooke paused. She turned
her head toward her friend in a reflexive effort to hear her better. “What? Why
would he do that? He only sat with me the one time, and I’m sure I was
perfectly fine.”

Georgia shrugged. “Apparently, he didn’t say anything else.
But it is kind of weird. Have you run into him since?”

The day at the beach immediately flashed through her mind,
and Brooke had to repress a shiver. “That depends on your definition,” she
replied carefully. “We saw each other at the beach early last week, before St.
Patrick’s Day. But we didn’t talk or anything.”

“I take back what I just said,” Georgia declared as the ice
clinked into her glass. “It’s
really
weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Brooke said on a sigh. She set
Clarabelle’s drink on the tray and stepped back. “Good luck,” she added before
she turned and walked back into the dining area.

Brooke did her best to keep her back to the mysterious man
in the corner booth while he was there. He stayed for a while, though no one
ever joined him. He was there for nearly thirty minutes longer than Clarabelle.
And when he finally made his way to the exit, he brushed past Brooke, bumping
into her as she was jotting down an order.

Reflexively—and without realizing who had bumped into
her—Brooke took a small step forward, trying to move out of the person’s way,
and said, “I’m sorry, excuse me.” Her head turned as she spoke, and the man
paused for a beat after he was past her.

When their eyes met, something strange flashed through his
dark, haunting gaze. And then he turned his head forward and continued on, not
saying a word. He barely paused to set down exact change at the register before
sweeping out the door.

The look in his eyes haunted Brooke for the entire rest of
her shift, and by the time Blake arrived to pick her up she felt like she was
in need of much more than a scalding shower.

“Hey,” Blake greeted as she ducked easily into the car.
“How was work?”

“I feel like my answer to that is not what it should be,”
Brooke admitted as she buckled herself in and he pulled away from the curb.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?”

“Technically, no. I had good tables, no one made any type
of a scene, and Paula swears we’ll survive losing Ed. So, when you look at it
that way, it was a good day at work.”

Frowning now, Blake said, “But something did happen that
bothered you.”

Her eyes followed the buildings and trees that passed as he
drove toward her apartment. “Do you remember that guy I told you about? The one
from the beach?”

“Yeah.”

“He came in again today. Apparently, he asked specifically
not to be seated with me. Plus he stayed way too long for a guy eating lunch
alone. But what bothered me most was when he left. He bumped into me—which,
looking back, had to have been deliberate—and when he looked at me…” She
paused, shivering faintly, before she said, “There was something in his eyes.
Something dark, and definitely not nice.”

Blake’s grip tightened on his steering wheel as she talked.
Brooke could only assume he was thinking the same thing she’d been thinking for
the past few hours—that this stranger was somehow related to what was
happening. Whether he was directly responsible or working with the responsible
party, they had no way to know. Though, Brooke supposed, she had to consider
the possibility that the man was simply an anti-social jerk.

They were nearly to her apartment by the time Brooke pulled
herself out of her musings to ask, “How’d the meeting with your family go?
Nobody else got attacked last night, right?”

“Right,” Blake assured her. “We didn’t really make any
progress, though. Dean’s convinced we’re all being stalked, Logan doesn’t think
it’s that simple, and I don’t really know what to believe.”

“It’s crazy is what it is,” Brooke declared on a sigh.

Blake made a noise of agreement as he pulled into her
driveway, parking once again behind her car. “Your duffel’s in the back.”

Brooke hesitated even as her eyes traveled to the backseat,
confirming his words. She didn’t particularly want to be alone at the moment,
knowing she’d just dwell even more on everything that had—and hadn’t—happened.
But she also didn’t want to come off as clingy, or annoying. At length, she
asked quietly, “Are you busy?”

He didn’t look remotely surprised by her question. Probably
because she had no poker face. “No. Do you want some company?”

“I’ve always prided myself on being independent. Ever since
I was a kid, bouncing around from foster family to foster family, I knew I
could only really rely on myself. But there are still times when I know I
really wouldn’t be my own best company, you know?”

Blake offered her a small, reassuring smile and tugged the
keys from the ignition. “I think everyone has days like that. But I hope
someday you’ll realize that it’s okay to rely on other people sometimes.”

Brooke reached around to tug her bag into her lap. “I’m
learning that, too.” And though she meant it, in her heart Brooke knew she was
talking specifically about Blake. It was almost frightening how strongly she
trusted him already. Instead of saying that, though, she merely added, “Thank
you.”

They climbed together from the car, and Brooke led the way
to the door. It wasn’t until he was closing it behind them and she was opening
her mouth to tell him to make himself comfortable that she realized she needed
a shower. She, of course, had already
known
she smelled like a diner, but she hadn’t given it a single thought.
And how rude would that be?
Or she could
invite him to join her… But no, she just wanted to wash the smell of greasy
food out of her hair. She didn’t feel clean or desirable.

“I’m sorry,” Brooke said, earning a silent, raised eyebrow
from Blake. “I probably smell like stale grease or something. I’m going to go
change real quick.”

Blake chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think you
smell. But if it’ll make you more comfortable, I think I can entertain myself
if you want to take a quick shower or something.”

Brooke smiled at him. “I’ll be fast, I promise.” When he
nodded again she turned and dashed down her short hall, to the bedroom, where
she could grab a decent change of clothes. She detoured in the hall to pull a
towel from the closet and then disappeared inside her bathroom. She was going
to take the fastest shower on record, but if it would get the smell out of her
skin and hair, then it would be worth it.

****

As Brooke disappeared into her bedroom, Blake shook his
head and migrated to her couch. He paused, standing before it, and found
himself studying the far end. It was that end that would have been cut up by
the imploding glass, and he hadn’t heard anything about her getting a
replacement. Curiously, he moved to the window side and knelt down to get a
better look.

When he ran his fingers lightly along the arm, he found a
couple of spots that felt stitched together. Then he saw another patch job on
the seat cushion, near the arm. It was smaller than the two he’d found with his
fingers, but it was still obviously a repair from something slashing through
the material. He doubted very much she’d taken a knife to her couch at any
point.

His fingers moved to run along the small repair on the
cushion, and he frowned. He could easily picture Brooke curled up on the couch,
relaxed and winding down from a long day. He already knew she’d been caught
completely off-guard by the storm. And it would have been so easy for her to
have been caught by a large
shard
of glass while
she’d still been sitting.
She could’ve
been hurt a lot worse.