The One That Got Away

5 - Elijah

I rode down the highway, the heat from the asphalt nearly sickening, but the warm, dry air was just what I needed. These rides helped me clear my head between jobs. I'd had so many victims under my belt now that I should just leave, never look back, and the trail would run cold. Most of the numbers on my list were from surrounding areas, so there was nothing connecting them back to me. But I couldn't walk away. There was a twitch that began aching deep in the pit of my stomach and radiated its way throughout my body until the need became too strong, and I had to give in.

This new hit didn't sit well with me. It wasn't often Greek gave me someone without a backstory. Of course, if anyone were to search for me, the last thing they would find is my trail of bodies.

I pulled off to the side of the street, took off my helmet, and hung it on my handlebar as I climbed off my bike. My eyes wandered over the outside of the library. Running my hand over my sweat-slicked hair, I shook my head and stepped inside. The cool central air felt good against my shirt that was clinging to my chest.

"Can I help you?" The elderly woman asked from behind a half-circle desk, her eyebrows pulled together as she scrutinized my appearance.

"Yes, ma'am. Could you tell me where the restrooms are?"

Her expression relaxed as she realized I wouldn't run my dirty fingers down dusty spines. "In the back to the left."

"Thank you," I replied with a nod as I made my way back inside the too quiet space. Every scuff of my motorcycle boot against the wooden floor made a deafening thud, and I could feel all eyes on me. At six foot three, I was used to this kind of reaction.

I glanced around the space, taking in every face that turned my way, until I noticed a woman seated in a small alcove, her face buried in a book and so entranced that she didn't glance up from the pages. Her wheat-blonde hair hung in beach waves long enough to tickle the pages of her novel. She was even more stunning than her picture, and I was momentarily enraptured by the way her lower lip was tucked between her teeth and her brows pinched as her eyes scanned the pages.

"Oh," she gasped, jumping slightly in her seat as she noticed me. "I didn't see you coming," she muttered, dog-earing a page in her book and closing it. Her nervous fingers tucked her long hair behind her ear as emerald orbs roamed over my tattoos. I knew I looked menacing. Ink swirled across my throat, creeping into my hair, shaved shorter on the sides. Her eyes scanned them as if trying to piece together my warning signs.

"I didn't mean to scare you," I smiled, and she returned the gesture, revealing dimples that settled deep into her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled, and I realized she wasn't afraid of me at all. She had just been so engrossed in her novel that she didn't hear me. "I was just looking for the restroom. I'm Elijah Cross," I introduced myself as I held out my hand.

Her gaze traveled down my forearm to the large crucifix tattooed across my flesh that stood out against the tribal and mosaic designs that covered nearly the rest of my body.

"I'm Birdie ...um... Beatrice Harper," she replied, sliding her hand into mine.

Her long fingers were silky soft, and I noted that she didn't have any rings on her fingers, a habit I'd picked up when needing to make sure someone wouldn't be missed. I didn't have a chance to research her yet. I hadn't planned on even taking the job. But how could I ignore her now, when she was studying me like she was just looking at her book only moments ago, trying to read me. I schooled my features, making sure I was coming off friendly and not looming over her as she sat in the corner. But it was hard to pretend to be unaffected by this unexpected meeting. I didn't believe in things like fate or destiny. But something had brought us together, and now, I couldn't walk away until I figured it out.