CHAPTER 35
Chapter Title: Drunk on Cole (Part 1)
Kathy
A sharp jingle cut the hush as the diner door swung open, carrying with it a gust of salty air and the first gray breath of dawn. A noisy knot of partygoers lurched through the door, laughter breaking off in jagged bursts, like they’d been drinking the ocean air as much as the booze. At the front was a tall guy with messy dark hair, a mole dotting the skin just above his upper lip. He leaned heavily on a blonde woman in a floral sundress, his arm draped around her shoulders like she was the only thing keeping him from kissing the floor.
He shoved his glasses away, blinking rapidly. The fluorescent glow caught in his glassy eyes, his grin lurching crooked with each unsteady step.
“Alice!” he hollered toward the counter, his voice thick and slurred from too much liquor. “Five of the usual, darlin’! Me and my crew are starving!” He waved a hand at his friends, who were already piling into a booth, giggling and shoving each other like kids on a sugar high.
His gaze wandered lazily across the diner, skimming over the red vinyl booths and the chipped Formica tables, until it landed on Ace. A flicker of recognition sparked in his hazy eyes, cutting through the drunken fog like a lighthouse beam. He let out a loud whoop, peeled himself off the blonde, and stumbled toward our booth, his sandals scuffing the worn linoleum floor. He moved like a guy trying to dance at a wedding after one too many whiskeys, all enthusiasm and no balance.
“Ace, my man!” he shouted, crashing into Ace with a sloppy bear hug that made the table rattle. “Goddamn, it’s been forever! How’s Hank? Still pissed I lost his girl? I’ve been blowing up his phone, but he’s dodging me like I owe him money!” His laugh was loud, a little desperate, and he clapped Ace’s shoulder like they were long-lost brothers.
Ace didn’t move an inch, his broad frame as solid as a brick wall. His face stayed cold, not a hint of warmth in his dark eyes. He leaned back slightly, his leather jacket creaking, and his voice came out low and flat, like he was spitting out gravel. “Go home, Cole. Sleep it off before you make a bigger fool of yourself.”
Cole. The name hit me like a fire alarm, sharp and urgent. My head snapped toward him, my fingers tightening around the handle of my coffee mug, the ceramic warm against my palm.
Cole grinned, sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. His hair was a mess, sticking up in clumps like he’d been running his hands through it all night. “Soon, man, soon. Gotta get some food in me first, you know? Can’t drive on an empty stomach.” His eyes drifted past Ace, landing on me for the first time. His smile faltered, like he’d just noticed a cop in the room. “Oh, damn. Didn’t know you were… uh, with someone. My bad. Just—tell Hank I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean—”
“Special Agent Katherine Hastings,” a voice cut in, smooth as honey but with a razor’s edge.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was. But I looked anyway, my heart doing a quick stutter.
Archer Ryder.
He strolled out from behind the counter, moving with the easy confidence of a man who knew every eye in the room followed him. His dark hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, like he’d just splashed water on his face in the diner’s cramped bathroom. He smelled faintly of clean soap, a crisp contrast to the greasy scent of frying bacon that hung in the air. His gray V-neck clung to his lean frame, and his faded jeans sat low on his hips, giving him the look of a guy who’d just stepped out of a magazine ad. That grin of his—too knowing, too amused—curled across his face like a fishing hook, snagging right into me. His light brown eyes locked on mine, sparkling with mischief, like he’d been waiting weeks to drop a punchline and I was it.
Cole froze mid-sway, his drunken haze clearing just enough for panic to creep in. “S-special agent?” he stammered, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
“That’s right, Cole Jones,” Archer said, his tone smooth and teasing as he circled closer to our booth. His boots clicked softly on the linoleum, deliberate, like a cat stalking a mouse. “Special Agent Katherine Hastings. Kimberly’s sister. You’d know that if you paid attention to anything besides your bar tabs and bad decisions.”
Cole Jones. Owner of Delish. The puzzle pieces snapped together in my head, sharp and clear, like a lock clicking into place.
“You’re the one who owns Delish,” I said, scooting over on the vinyl seat to make room. The cushion squeaked under me, the red fabric worn thin from years of customers. “Sit down, Cole. We’re going to have a little chat.”
Cole shook his head, his eyes darting toward the door like he was plotting an escape. “Uh, can we do this later? Like, when I’m not totally hammered?” His voice was pleading, and he swayed slightly, catching himself on the edge of the table.
Archer’s hand landed on Cole’s shoulder, firm but not rough, guiding him down into the booth beside me. “She’s not asking, buddy,” Archer said, his grin never wavering but his eyes hard as steel. “Sit.”
Cole collapsed onto the seat with a heavy thud, the smell of rum rolling off him in waves. He looked trapped, his gaze bouncing nervously between Ace’s icy, unblinking stare and Archer’s sharp, wolfish grin. His hands fidgeted on the table, fingers tapping a jittery rhythm against the scratched surface.
I leaned in, just close enough to keep my voice low and steady, like I was calming a spooked animal. “Relax, Cole. I don’t bite. I just need answers. Did you see Kimberly get into the SUV that night?”
He rubbed his face with both hands, his palms rasping against the stubble on his cheeks. He nodded, slow and reluctant. “Yeah, I saw her. I was at the door of Delish, checking IDs. It was crazy—music blasting, people everywhere. She walked up to this black SUV and just… got in. Didn’t see the driver’s face, though. Too dark, and the windows were tinted. Fireworks were going off, lighting up the sky, and the crowd was loud as hell. By the time I realized something felt off and got to the curb, the SUV was peeling out. Gone.”
My pulse kicked up, thudding in my ears like a drum. “What happened next?”
Cole shifted, his knee bouncing under the table. “Me, Emma, and Allison were outside, joking around, you know? Another black SUV pulled up maybe a minute later. The driver leaned out and said he was the Uber for Kimberly Hastings. That’s when we knew something was wrong.”
My jaw tightened so hard my teeth ached. Allison.
“You’re friends with Allison?” I asked, keeping my voice calm despite the heat building in my chest.
Cole shrugged, looking guilty and careless at the same time, like a kid caught sneaking cookies. “Yeah. Known her since high school. She’s… intense, but we’re tight.”
“What’s her full name?”
“Allison Reed. She owns Lace and Timber, that fancy boutique in Bayview Heights.”
Rich. Connected. Exactly the kind of person who’d run in Hank’s exclusive circle. His world wasn’t one just anyone could walk into.