Daddy's Little Killer

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

 

I woke to sunlight streaming into the west-facing window of Orion's guest room. An ache rippled in waves from the top of my skull to the tip of my spine. Good lord, what happened?

The duvet on the bed was tangled around my legs. I swam my way free, groaned deep discomfort and pulled myself up into sitting position. My shoulders rolled forward, creating an arch of my vertebrae, a cat hissing at crickets perhaps.

"Jesus. What the hell happened to me?"

"You're awake."

My eyes took a regrettable rapid motion toward the voice. "Orion. It's you." I pulled the duvet to my chest and glanced at him warily. Amend that. Any movement of my eyeballs felt like hot knives stabbing into my brain.

"How are you this morning?"

"Hung over as hell. What happened last night?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, frowned and said, "You tell me, Doc."

Palms ground into my face. "I have no clue. God, I feel like death warmed over."

"Do you remember Maya coming to see you late yesterday afternoon?"

I peeked through fingers. "No."

"And I don't suppose you can tell me why you were found in this condition at Jerry fucking Lowe's house."

"Don't take that tone with me."

"Answer the question, Doc."

"Don't call me-"

"Yeah, you said that last night too. Frankly, I don't give a shit if you like it or not. Why were you at Jerry Lowe's house?"

"Technically, I am a detective, and he is the chief of detectives."

"You don't answer to that moron."

I also didn't remember going to his house for any reason under the sun. The whole damn day was a bit foggy. Everything after my conversation with Maya about the missing teenagers and those I suspected were survivors of sexual assault.

"Oh dammit! I was supposed to talk to someone last night!"

"Yeah, I know. Charlie brought you home."

"This isn't my home, Orion. My home is..."

"Is where?"

Something vital was on the tip of my tongue. What was it? Why couldn't I remember yesterday? Maya. Her tantrum over the messy condition in the wake of my night of research. Scrubs. Central. Oh yeah, Danny Datello implied that I'd be burning in hell soon with my dead ex-husband.

"Datello."

"Excuse me?"

"I talked to Datello yesterday morning."

"You personally spoke to him?"

A bit of my usual wariness returned. "I can't talk to you about this, Orion."

He huffed a bit, muttered something about liking me a hell of a lot more last night. "So where is home, Helen?"

Blonde hair and a perky, utterly annoying image flashed before my eyes. "Theresa something."

"You're still sick."

"I'm fine, dammit. She's a realtor. I met with her yesterday. I found a house. She was supposed to drop the keys off for Michel last night. I live in Beach Cliffs." Ha! Take that Mr. You're-Still-Sick.