Casing ✔️

Chapter 14

I didn't sleep a wink out there in the woods. The whole night flew by as we talked, laughed and enjoyed s'mores and the warmth from our sleeping bags and blanket. As the night grew colder, we ended up snuggling together in the same sleeping bag, but we had our clothes on the whole time, and I ended up missing his warm embrace as I laid down trying to sleep in my bed the next day.

It would be hard for him to top that date next time, but a part of me already knew any date with him would be great—because it was him.

The smell of coffee woke me up as I walked into the kitchen around two in the afternoon, and I stifled a yawn when I walked up to fill up a cup. Dad was seated by the table, his phone on speaker in front of him, and he nodded a hello to me between his words. "Yes, I made sure the warehouse was spotless," dad said, and I stiffened.

"I've told them to keep the messes to a minimum," the voice on the phone said. A dark and hoarse voice I'd heard before, "but they're practically kids still. You know how that is, don't you?"

"Well, one of my girls leaves messes everywhere she goes, so yeah, I know." Dad smiled at me as I took a seat opposite him, sipping my coffee. "Kurt and Mongrel were dragging out the bastards when I got there, said to them they were lucky no one died considering how angry Damian was."

I tried to seem uninterested as I sipped my coffee, already wide awake. He'd been where I was, just minutes later. The car I was in might've even met his on the way back. And as that information sunk in, I also realized that might've been why Hank came to talk to me that day—because he knew I'd been there for those two gunshots, and the blood, and the anger—

"That temper he has isn't from me," the man said with a laugh, and I realized it was Michael Strac himself.

Dad grinned. "I'll get to it as soon as I can, Michael," he said, clearing his throat, "I'll make sure everyone is talked to."

"Knew I could count on you, Kevin," Michael replied. "Let me know when you're done."

"Absolutely." Then dad hung up, and he folded his hands in front of me, his eyes pinning me down into my seat. "How was your date last night?" he asked, and I wanted to disappear.

"It was good," I told him, picking up my mug to keep drinking instead of talking.

Dad reached out, lowering my mug and squinting at me. "What don't you want to tell me, Lina?"

I sucked on my tongue, trying my hardest to produce enough saliva to swallow that for a little while, as I thought of a good answer. He knew me too well for any of our benefits, because if I ended up spilling that I'd been on two very lovely dates with James Davis, he'd lose his sanity and I'd lose my freedom.

His eyes assessed me, and the seconds slowed down as I tried to weave together a lie that wouldn't be exactly a lie, but not quite true, and therefore passable as an explanation, and—I was confusing myself with my thoughts that made no sense.

"Elina George—"

"I think I might like this man," I said, cutting him off as he tried to use my full name as a threat. "And I'm scared to tell you about it, because you want me to be safe, and I don't think I ever will be since I'm your daughter, and everyone knows how mom ended up, and I don't want to move to Durfair now, or in six months, or ever."

The words just flew out once my mouth was empty. As soon as dad's hand slid off my mug I lifted it to drink so much I'd probably puke it all up in a second. I didn't want to speak any more. I had to think about my next few sentences. Really think, and not just spew them out.

He just kept staring at me and I kept my mouth filled with coffee without swallowing. It was nauseating. Coffee was meant to be drunk, not tasted again and again. My teeth would probably pay for that as well.