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4. He Listened to Messages

TOBY

Tap, tap, tap.

I slowly lifted my head. The world was dark. Sleepy. Fuzzy around the edges. I squinted through the pain that speared my temple and strained my tired eyes to focus on something—anything—in front of me.

Smudged streetlights floated on a sea of black. Was it... night time? I blinked again. Haze shaped like a tree. The blurred outline of a parking meter. A... steering wheel?

My head jerked back and hit the headrest. Hard. A fresh stab of pain shot through my skull.

Shit.

I fell asleep in the car.

I tugged a hand through my hair, and the stench of stale booze smacked me head-on. I sniffed under my arm. That couldn't be... me? How long had I been slumped over the steering wheel? I only meant to close my eyes for a few minutes to chase off the last of the booze and make sure I was sober enough to drive home.

I never meant to fall asleep.

What time was it? There was no one around. The street was a ghost town. It was probably late—too late.

Tap, tap, tap.

Confusion drilled deep in my chest. That noise again. My eyes went wild in every direction, and I ended up flicking a look over my shoulder out the driver's side window. My whole body seized up.

Eyes—crinkled, deep-set, no face—stared back.

The confusion in my chest only spiraled deeper. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

There was another impatient knock against the window, and a muffled voice barked, "Sir?"

I almost didn't want to look. Cautious, my pulse thundering, I gazed back over my shoulder. The crinkled eyes stared back. Rolling lights of blue and then red lit up a leather jacket, a badge, a helmet, and the motorcycle parked beside my car.

A cop.

Great. Just... great.

The cop circled his fist. It took me a few beats to realize he was signaling for me to put down the window. No one cranked a handle to do that anymore. He was old school. Whatever. I smashed at the button on the door. Nothing happened.

The cop's eyes narrowed, and he circled his fist again.

Frantic, I stabbed at the button over and over. He must have thought I was a bloody moron. Or drunk. Or both. My tired brain finally registered that the car needed to be turned on to use the stupid electric windows. I thumped the button for the ignition. The dash lit up.

I forgot all about the pissed-off cop glaring at me. My eyes were glued to the clock.

3:30 AM.

My lungs froze.

Shit.

Gwen was going to skin me alive. She was already on edge whenever Kayleigh's name was mentioned. Nagging at me. Asking questions. Raising her damn eyebrow like I'd done something wrong just because I refused to treat my staff like shit.

How would this look? Reality kicked me hard in the gut. I already knew exactly how it would look.

I couldn't prance around on my moral high horse anymore. I had royally screwed up. Put my hands on another women. Didn't this prove Gwen was right to be worried? She'd given me an inch of rope to have fun for once, and I'd hung myself.