Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score
28
5:17 p.m., Monday, August 17
Nick nudged the bedroom door open and stepped inside. An episode of Riley’s favorite TV show, Made It Out Alive, was demonstrating the proper way to stay safe during a livestock stampede. He opened the shades with a satisfying snap.
“Mmmph!” His girlfriend complained from the center of the bed. She had one arm thrown over her face. Her other arm was pinned beneath Burt, who was resting his head on her shoulder, looking at Riley adoringly while his tail wagged against the mattress.
“Morning, sunshine,” Nick said cheerfully. “How hungover are you?”
“Oh, God,” she rasped. “Is it really morning?”
He grinned as she glared at the sun streaming through the window over the fire escape.
“I’m just messing with you, Thorn. It’s still Monday. Coffee or sports drink?”
“Mmm, coffee,” she decided, then yawned. Burt took the opportunity to French kiss her.
“Ew, barf,” she groaned but gave the dog a series of noisy kisses on top of his gigantic head.
The thumping increased. “I think our dog is in love with you,” Nick observed as he handed over the mug of coffee and put the bottle of Gatorade down on the nightstand.
“Yoo-hoo! Burty boy! Aunt Lily made you a special T-R-E-A-T!” Lily called from downstairs.
Burt’s ears perked up, and then he launched himself through the door.
“He has got to be the most spoiled dog on the planet,” Riley mused, working her way into a seated position while gulping coffee. She frowned at him. “Wait. Are we still fighting?”
“You’re really groggy after a nap, aren’t you?” he noted.
“I’m not at my sharpest,” she admitted, then took another hit of caffeine. “Okay, horrible day at Channel 50—which, by the way, seems to be circling the drain. Someone should just burn that building down. The whole thing is falling apart. Busted Mrs. Penny. Busted you. Drunk makeover. Deviled eggs. You refusing to sing Spice Girls with Jasmine and me in the car. Okay, I don’t think anything is missing.”
“While you were passed out drunk, I sprung Mrs. Penny from the emergency department,” Nick told her. “They didn’t believe her when she said she was working undercover for a PI until I showed up.”
“Serves you both right.” She sniffed and guzzled the sports drink.
“You’re a little fuzzy on the part where I not only told you I loved you—which I’m totally not freaking out yet that you haven’t said it back. And then I let you into my head so you could see first-hand what a fucked-up mess I am.”
She gave him a small smile. “Oh, right. I must have forgotten that part.”
“Well, now you’re caught up, and you have thirty minutes to wash the drag show off your face.”
She slapped a hand to her face and came away with fake lashes on her middle finger. “Shit.”
“Serves you right,” he teased and headed for the door. “Now, get ready.”
“What am I getting ready for?” she called after him.
“Date night.”
“Hey, Nick?”
He stopped in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“I love you too.”
“I know,” he said with a wink.
* * *
Twenty-seven minutes later,Riley made her grand entrance in the re-rearranged parlor in a pair of sexy as hell shorts, a silky red tank top, and strappy sandals with heels. Her hair was pulled back in a low tail with a few wispy curls framing her face. She’d managed to scrape off the trowel-load of makeup and looked fresh-faced and only vaguely hungover.
Fred let out a wolf whistle. “Looking good, Riley!”
“You look like a lotus blossom,” Gabe announced from the floor where he was in minute nine of his plank.
Mrs. Penny looked up from the report of her “detainment” at the hospital. She had her feet on Gabe’s back and a laptop perched in her lap. “You bested me today, Thorn, but it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t mess with me, Penny,” Riley shot back with a wink.
Mr. Willicott strolled into the room and looked at Riley. “Who the hell are you?”
She sighed. “I get that a lot more than I should.”
“Who’s ready for liverwurst?” Lily sang from the hallway.
“Let’s go, Thorn,” Nick said, steering her toward the front door before the liverwurst fairy could demand they stay. “Penny, you’re in charge of Burt. Don’t let him eat any people food.”
She tossed him a jaunty salute. “You got it, boss.”
Nick dragged Riley out onto the porch and down the steps into the humid evening air.
“Where are we going?” she asked with another yawn.
“It’s a surprise.” He led the way to the Jeep and opened her door for her.
“Wow. This is serious date night treatment,” she observed.
“I’m pulling out all the stops tonight, so be prepared to be wowed,” he said, sliding behind the wheel. “By the way, check your phone.”
She pulled it out of her back pocket and frowned at the screen. “What am I looking for?”
He leaned over her and tapped on an app. “That.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “I get to stalk you too?”
“It’s only fair. Now we can both be creepy stalkers.”
“Are we sure this isn’t super unhealthy?” she mused. “I mean, I get the practical applications, but it feels a little wrong to track you wherever you go.”
“As long as we’re creepy and wrong together,” Nick said firmly. He wasn’t going to budge on this. It wasn’t a trust issue. It was a safety issue, and if he had to quid pro quo this shit to keep Riley safe, that’s what he was going to do.
“Okay. I’ll give creepy and wrong a shot. Now where are we going, and is food involved?”
Food was most definitely on the menu. Nick drove down an alley and slid into a parking space next to a dumpster.
“VIP parking?” Riley joked.
“This is my dad’s restaurant.”
She winced. “Isn’t it a little soon for us to be inflicting ourselves on your family again?”
He squeezed her knee. “My dad doesn’t work Monday nights.”
She perked up. “In that case, I’m starving! I haven’t had anything since the tequila and eggs.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t need to vomit after that.” He took her hand and led her around the building to the front.
Small Plates was a cozy tapas place tucked away on North Street under a red awning. It was his father’s newest restaurant. All of the tables on the sidewalk were occupied. He pulled Riley inside to the host stand and stopped short.
“Nicky! What the hell are you doing here?” Miguel said with very little enthusiasm behind the host stand.
“What are you doing here, Dad? You don’t work Mondays.”
“What?”
“What are you doing here?” Nick repeated loud enough for the words to carry over the noisy buzz inside.
“This is my restaurant. Why wouldn’t I be here?” his father bellowed.
Nick sighed. “It’s Monday. You don’t work Mondays.”
“I do when half the waitstaff and the dishwasher quit on me!” The desk phone rang, and Miguel answered it with a snarl. “What do you want? I’m busy here!”
“I can’t imagine why half your staff would quit on you,” Nick said dryly.
“They hung up. People have no phone etiquette these days. You shouldn’t be here. It hasn’t been long enough to get over the hurtful things your girlfriend said after I so graciously fed her.”
“Need an expo, Miguel,” a harried woman in a long white apron barked as she hauled ass out of the kitchen.
“I’m coming!”
“I’m taking Riley on a date. The service might suck here, but the food is good.”
“You’re damn right the food is good. But I dunno if you deserve the good food.”
Nick blew out a breath and surveyed the restaurant. There were dirty dishes stacked on empty tables and disgruntled-looking customers waiting for food. He’d grown up in kitchens in Harrisburg and knew what was expected. Family lent a hand, even when family was pissed. “Fine. But you owe us a five-course meal plus dessert, and you can’t be a dick about anything.”
“Three-course and you share a dessert. I can’t promise the dick thing.”
“Deal,” Nick said and turned to Riley. “You ready to earn your supper?”
“I don’t even have to wear a skirt that shows off my hoo-ha? Count me in,” she said with a grin.
“You can wear one later. For me,” he told her.
She blew him a kiss and tackled the closest dirty table with the dish bin.
Nick snagged the ringing phone at the host stand and sent a wink in the direction of all of the waiting female patrons. “I’ll be right with you folks,” he promised.
Working in tandem, he and Riley divided and conquered effortlessly, shifting between front of house and back of house duties. Tables were cleared, food run, dishes washed, and inconvenienced patrons were charmed within an inch of their lives. He’d never had the opportunity to watch Riley on the clock when she was undercover at Nature Girls. But the woman was a natural in a restaurant. She even barked a few orders at his father when Miguel plated the wrong steak. And when his dad asked her if she was going to let the fish sit in the window until it rotted, Riley had responded with a cheery “Bite me, Miguel.”
She fit right in.
An hour and a half later, the bulk of the dinner crowd was fed and pleased enough to leave sizable tips.
Finally, Miguel grudgingly pointed them in the direction of a table they’d just cleared. “Your dinner’ll be out whenever.” He snatched the menus away from them. “You’ll get what you get, and that’s that.”
“The service here is delightful,” Riley told Nick.
He gave her bare knee a squeeze. “Stay here. I’ll go make us some drinks. If you can handle more alcohol.”
“I slept off most of it and sweated the rest out here. I’m ready for some hair of the dog.”
He ducked behind the bar, nodded to the bartender, and got to work. When he returned to the table, Riley eyed the concoction he handed her.
“Cheers,” he said, holding up his glass.
“What are we toasting?”
“You said you loved me. I think that’s worth alcohol.”
She tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “If I remember correctly, you said it first.”
“Of course I did. Because I’m much braver and more manly.”
“You also screwed up a lot bigger than I did.”
“I’m willing to drink to that,” Nick said, touching his glass to hers.
“To us,” Riley said.
“To us,” he echoed.
“Mmm. What is this?” she asked after her first sip.
“Sangria.”
“You’re a talented man behind the bar, Nick Santiago.”
“I’m talented everywhere. Except maybe in the putting feelings into words portion of life. So let’s talk.”
She raised her eyebrows. “About what?”
“About all of this shit. You’ve been in my head. Now there’s no secrets.”
“Alistair,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“You’re wearing an ironed shirt. I assumed he was involved.”
“I may have stopped by his place and briefly mentioned that I’d made a few practically insignificant mistakes.”
“You hired an eighty-year-old woman to follow me. That’s a little bigger than ‘practically insignificant.’”
“Good thing we’ve moved on from that part.”
She snorted.
“Here’s some damn calamari and whatever,” Miguel said, unceremoniously dropping an artistically plated appetizer onto the table with a crash.
“Thanks, Pop,” Nick said. He squeezed lemon over the exquisitely fried calamari before plucking a piece off the plate and feeding it to Riley.
“Oh. My. God. That’s good,” she purred.
“You’re damn right it’s good,” Miguel huffed and then stomped back to the kitchen.
“Back to talking,” Nick prodded.
“Hang on. Between your dad’s calamari and your sangria, I’m having a mouth orgasm.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with my dad being involved with your orgasm.”
She wrinkled her nose in that adorable way of hers and snickered. “Okay. Fine. Back to talking.”
“Do you have any questions about whatever you saw when you were drunk spelunking in my head?” He asked his plate the question, not really wanting to make eye contact when he felt so exposed.
“You feel responsible for what happened to Beth,” she said.
He shrugged and pulled one of the fried rings apart.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Is that a prediction or a pep talk?”
“Maybe a little bit of both,” she mused. “But the bottom line is, you weren’t the one to take her. That’s who should get the blame.”
“I may not have abducted her. But I sure as hell didn’t protect her.”
“You tried. She didn’t make it easy. And I haven’t made it easy either.”
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “No, you haven’t.”
“I think if we would have talked like this before, maybe I would have been more sensitive to your feelings.”
“I’m not the kind of guy who needs someone to be sensitive to my feelings,” he insisted.
“Maybe only in certain limited circumstances,” she revised.
He could accept that. “So now you know what you mean to me and how important your safety is to me,” Nick said. “And you know if you put yourself in a situation like that again, I’m going to murder you myself.”
“That’s fair.”
“Now it’s your turn,” he instructed.
“My turn?”
“I told you what I want from you. Now you tell me what you want from me.”
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her brown eyes warm and sparkling. “More,” she said.
“More what? Calamari? Sangria?”
“More of everything with you.”
Maybe it was the sangria. Or maybe it was the two-hundred dollars in tips in his pocket. Or maybe it was the woman who wanted more than he’d ever wanted to give before. Whatever it was, he felt something warm and not at all terrible in his chest.
“Deal.”
