CHAPTER 34
Chapter Title: Friction at Dawn
Kathy
The neon glow from the diner’s sign bled into the empty lot, humming faintly like a heartbeat. It was almost five, the air carrying that washed-out chill of a night almost over but not yet surrendered to morning. Too late for comfort, too early for clarity.
No way we’d make it back here by eight. The surveillance team would be coming soon, including a tech for latent print recovery. Those notes from the “grocery fairy” needed to be looked at, plus I had to brief the team. My mind was already racing ahead, but my steps slowed when I spotted Ace.
He was leaning against his Lexus like it belonged on a magazine cover, arms crossed, head tilted, his profile carved out by the diner’s sickly yellow light. Relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—always sharp.
“Where’d you go, Hastings?” His voice was low, a thread between challenge and concern. “You were right behind me, then—poof—you vanished.”
I tugged my backpack higher, schooling my features into something even. “Took a wrong turn.” The lie slid off my tongue, smooth as glass. But my chest betrayed me. There was something about the way he leaned there, like he had all the time in the world to figure me out, that pulled at the edges of my defenses.
“By the way,” I said quickly, trying to steer us forward, “I need to handle something before we leave town. Won’t take long, but it can’t wait. And I need those prints you lifted from the SUV in the scrapyard. Oh—and you did take photos of the SUV for documentation, right? Chain of custody’s useless without it.”
Ace’s mouth twitched, somewhere between amused and suspicious. He straightened, closing the distance just enough that I caught the faint trace of his cologne—clean, sharp, maddening. “Yeah. I did. You want them now?”
“Yeah. Send them over.”
He fished his phone from his pocket, thumbs moving. “Give me your email. And your number, too, while you’re at it.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying not to notice how the diner’s light caught in his dark hair. “You just trying to get my number?”
The grin that spread across his face was all wolfish edges, a little too dangerous for this hour of the morning. “We’re working together, Hastings. Practical. Earlier, I thought you ditched me. If I had your number, I could’ve called to check.”
“Or track me,” I countered, smirking as if I weren’t aware of how close he stood, how my pulse was betraying me.
“Maybe both,” he said, offering me the phone. His fingers brushed mine in the handoff, a quick spark that zipped down my arm and settled, unwelcome but persistent, in the hollow of my chest.
I typed slower than I needed to, dragging the moment out, then handed it back. “Satisfied?”
“Thrilled,” he murmured, but the weight in his tone wasn’t casual. His eyes stayed locked on mine for a beat too long, and for one reckless second, I almost forgot what city we were in, what case we were chasing.
He tapped his phone, and a second later mine buzzed in my pocket. The vibration jolted me, sharp and real, tugging me back to the present.
“Just making sure you didn’t give me a fake," he grinned. "I'll send you the prints and photos over breakfast and give Dorsey a call so he can meet us here before he goes to the scrapyard. After you handle your mystery errand, we hit Ocean City.”
"Sounds like a plan," I smiled.
Ace tucked his phone away, then tilted his head toward the glowing diner. “Come on. You’re running on fumes. Caffeine’s standard issue.”
He pushed open the diner’s glass door, and a little bell jingled. The warm smell of frying bacon, fresh coffee, and sugary pancakes wrapped around us like a hug. The Greasy Fork was old-school: linoleum floors, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox in the corner that looked like it hadn’t played in years.
A waitress in pink polyester looked up from the counter, gave us a nod, then went back to her crossword.
We slid into a corner booth. Vinyl seats stuck to the backs of my legs, the table cluttered with a sugar caddy and a ketchup bottle that had seen better days. Ace ordered two coffees before I could speak, like he already knew I’d cave.
“Bossy,” I muttered.
“Efficient,” he corrected, leaning back like the booth belonged to him. The overhead light caught the scar on his temple, faint but telling. I tried not to stare.
The waitress dropped off two steaming mugs. Ace pushed the sugar toward me, and his fingers brushed mine again, deliberate this time. The contact was fleeting but charged, sending a pulse of warmth up my arm.
“Sweeten it,” he said, smirking. “You’re wound too tight.”
I rolled my eyes, but my hand lingered on the caddy longer than necessary. “Says the guy who probably drinks his black, no hesitation.”
“Guilty,” he said, sipping his coffee. I caught myself watching his mouth when he did it, the way his lips curved against the rim of the cup. Heat climbed up my neck, and I snapped my gaze back to my own mug, drowning the moment in bitter liquid.
“So,” he said after a beat, eyes narrowing slightly. “This thing you have to handle before we leave town. Want to tell me what it is?”
“No,” I said flatly, though my voice betrayed the flicker of nerves underneath.
His smile was lazy, dangerous. “Didn’t think so. But you can’t blame me for asking.”
I wrapped my hands around the chipped mug, letting the heat steady me. He watched me over the rim of his cup again, gaze too steady, too focused, and the longer it lasted, the harder it was to breathe like this was normal.
“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me half of what you know?” he asked.
“Because you’re paranoid.”
“Or because I’m right.”
The silence stretched between us, not hostile exactly, but thick with something neither of us wanted to name. His gaze pinned me in place, hot and unyielding, and suddenly the diner felt too small, the air too thick.
I shifted forward, elbows on the table, and without thinking, so did he. The space between us collapsed, his arm brushing mine, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always seemed to find its way under my skin.
“You ever get tired of lying to me, Hastings?”
The challenge in his tone burned, but the look in his eyes wasn’t suspicion anymore. It was hunger, steady and raw, and it pulled at me harder than I wanted to admit. I leaned closer without meaning to, the scent of his coffee mixing with his cologne, heat rolling off him in waves. My heart thudded so loud I swore he could hear it.
His gaze flicked to my mouth. Just once. Enough to make my breath stutter.
We were inches away now, one more push and I’d know exactly what that grin tasted like—
The bell over the diner door jangled, sharp and startling.
A group of five stumbled in, loud and giggling, smelling like salty air and cheap booze. Three girls and two guys, late twenties. They wore sundresses and loose linen pants, sunglasses covering their eyes even though the sun was barely up. Sand clung to their sandals, like they’d come straight from a beach party.
Ace cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he watched them. He knew who they were.
“Who’re they?” I asked, keeping my voice low. My lips curled into a small smile. Oh, this was good.
“Nobody important,” Ace muttered, jaw tight. “Just locals with too much money and not enough brains.”
I didn’t buy it. Ace was hiding something, and that group—their party vibe at this hour, their fancy clothes—felt like another clue. Were they connected to Lace and Timber? To Divine? Maybe even to Kimberly?
My gut said yes.
Crisfield was small, but it was piling up secrets faster than I could count.