Beautiful Villain Read online

  Instead of speaking, I type something on the computer and then look up at her.

  “Excuse me, I need to make a phone call,” I say. I lift the receiver to the phone and dial up another library. Instantly, the phone starts to ring, and when one of the librarians picks up, I start talking. “Hello! This is Finley from the Kurlin City Library.”

  Marcy’s eyes practically glaze over and she starts walking away. The real question is how long can I keep the other librarian talking without having a valid reason for the call? That’s what I want to know.

  “I was wondering if you happen to have a copy of the new Devon Taylor book? The one about the robots? You do?”

  Somehow, I bluff my way through a conversation and end up asking for recommendations for some of my non-existent patrons. By the time I hang up the phone five minutes later, both Ted and Marcy are gone, and relief washes over me.

  What the hell was with them?

  Why did they come into the library?

  It’s then that I notice Ted didn’t sign out of his computer. The way the library desktops are designed is that when you log off of a desktop, it clears your browser history and the Internet cache. Since he didn’t log off, I can see exactly what he was looking up.

  Maybe it’s wrong to spy, but curiosity gets the best of me and I go over to the computer and pull up the Chrome browser. I look at the history and when I see what he was looking at, I suddenly feel sick.

  Ted doesn’t just know that Neil is back in town: he’s actively trying to find him.

  And that can’t mean anything good.

  Chapter Six

  Neil

  The problem with being a criminal is that you gain some skills, but you lose others. Surfing the Internet was fun in high school, but I don’t think I really developed the sleuthing abilities that most other convicts have when it comes to Internet prowess. After hours of staring at the computer, I’m not really any closer to finding out any information than I was when I was in prison. My Internet access there wasn’t non-existent, but it was severely limited. Now I’m “free,” but I’m still locked away in my heart. The demons from my past aren’t going anywhere, it seems, no matter how badly I want them to.

  “What are we going to do, kitty cat?” I ask Echo. I find that I keep talking to him over and over again. I’ve never considered myself to be much of a cat person, but maybe I’m coming around.

  After awhile, I get up and pace. Over and over, I walk around on Finley’s little carpet. Her house is cute and adorable: just like her. The wood floors are covered with mismatched area rugs and carpets, and she’s got books just everywhere.

  I walk around and run my fingers over a couple of them. They’re clean: not dusty, and the spines are all so pretty. I don’t know how she started her book collection, but there’s a part of me that’s wildly jealous.

  I want something like this in my life.

  Okay, I really, really want something like this in my life.

  I don’t deserve a girl like Finley, and the truth is that I only came here for one reason: revenge. I came back to Kurlin to find out who framed me and why, and to find out exactly what it is they did. Sammy shouldn’t have died. We all know that. Literally everyone knows that kid should have still been alive.

  So why isn’t he?

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  These are questions I’ve wrestled with for years, but somehow, I kind of thought I’d instantly find answers when I came back. I wanted to, I guess. I wanted to come back into town and just have the answers handed to me on a silver platter. That’s not really what happened, though, and it’s frustrating.

  Somehow, I manage to make the day pass. It’s a little bit awkward and rough. I feed Echo a few times. Finley didn’t tell me how much to feed him, so I kind of guess. How often does a kitten need to eat? Every hour? Every three hours? I don’t know. Echo kind of acts like he’s starving to death, though, so I just keep his food bowl topped off.

  Then I clean.

  One thing I learned in prison was how to clean really well, so I scrub the floors and do the dishes and wash the laundry. I vacuum and sweep and tidy up everything that I can. It’s nice enough that Finley is letting me stay here. I’m not going to be any sort of burden to her, too.

  After I’m done cleaning, I take a shower and wash my clothes. I have one spare set of clothing – jeans and a tee – and I wear that while my other outfit is washing. Okay, so I need to get to a store soon and buy stuff.

  It’s just that I don’t really want to be out wandering in Kurlin.

  The problem with small towns is that people talk, and most of the time, it’s not about anything good. They never want to talk about anything you need to hear or you’re interested in hearing.

  Instead, they gossip, and they spread stories, and they tell the kind of tales that good men die for.

  A quick glance at the clock reveals that she’s going to be home soon, and I don’t want Finley to think I just sat around all day. It’s not that she’ll judge me – she won’t – but I don’t want her to feel like I’m taking advantage of her hospitality. She’s a good person, a kind person, and she deserves to have someone taking care of her.

  There’s a part of me that wants to be that man.

  I could love her, worship her, play with her.

  I could play her body like a harp and then make her come harder than she ever has before.

  Would she like that?

  Making her come apart the other day was fantastic. It was so absolutely fucking perfect that it kind of hurts to think about. She’s wonderful, and lovely, and she’s so incredible that the idea of her being with anyone else just kills me.

  I hate how much I’ve come to like her, to adore her.

  The truth is that Finley and I don’t really know each other very well, but damn, I feel like I do. There’s a part of me that feels like nobody could possibly understand her as well as I do.

  There’s a little piece of my heart that feels like Finley and I belong to each other, but that would be crazy.

  She’s a sweet, innocent little librarian who likes to bake cupcakes and me?

  Well, I’m all wrong for her.

  I’m broken.

  I’m damaged.

  I’m…

  Well, I’m a villain, I guess.

  But the least I can do is make sure she has a hot dinner to come home to, so I move into the kitchen and start cooking. She’s got a fully stocked pantry, which impresses me more than it should. I haven’t peeked around her stuff too much. In fact, I didn’t eat all day. Despite the fact that Echo has done nothing but eat, I somehow haven’t had much of an appetite.

  I guess I’ve been too worked up trying to figure out how I’m going to save us from the past.

  Sammy didn’t deserve to die.

  He didn’t deserve to be slaughtered in cold blood, and I hate that I didn’t get there in time to rescue him.

  We were supposed to meet, just the two of us. It wasn’t something strange or unusual. Sammy and I loved hanging out together and sharing our thoughts and feelings. We often got together just to rant or just to mull things over.

  That was important when you lived in a small town. Growing up was hard enough. Being along made it a million times worse. Sammy and I were two very different people from two very different walks of life, but we managed to make things work. I was a freshman in college when it happened and he was a senior. He never even got to graduate.

  We’d been friends all throughout highschool and when I started at the community college, that didn’t change. It couldn’t. We still needed each other. We still needed that camaraderie.

  Besides, moving to a different school didn’t terminate a friendship.

  At least, it didn’t have to.

  Not in our minds.

  Pushing the thoughts away, I turn on some music and start cooking. Before long, I hear Finley’s car in the driveway and then the front door opens. I hear her pause in the doorway before she closes the do
or and locks it behind her. Then she comes into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” she says, leaning against the doorway.

  “Hey,” I look over from my place by the stove. She’s looking cute as hell in her pencil skirt and white blouse. She really does look like a damn lovely librarian. “How was work?”

  “Long,” she tells me, and slumps down into her kitchen chair. She starts taking off her shoes as she looks up at me. “And busy. How was your day? Any leads?”

  “First things first,” I say. I set the spoon down that I’m using to stir the food with, and I come over to her. Dropping down in front of her, I help her take off her shoes. Then I set them to the side.

  “What are you doing?” She whispers.

  “Only what you deserve,” I answer, and I start rubbing her feet. “It was a long day, and I’m guessing that you were walking around for most of it.”

  “You have no idea,” she groans. Then she closes her eyes. “And that feels so damn good.”

  “Good,” I laugh. “You deserve it.”

  She does, too. She deserve all of this and more. I wish I had more to give her, to shower her with. As it stands, I have nothing but my hope and my hands, and I’m willing to give her both.

  “So tell me about your day.”

  “You first,” she says, looking down at me. “What did you find out?”

  “Nothing,” I shake my head. I’m a little embarrassed, honestly. I feel like I should have been wildly successful.

  “Is it because you were mopping my floors?” She asks, looking around.

  “Maybe.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “It was nothing.”

  She laughs and shakes her head.

  “Well, it wasn’t nothing. It looks incredible,” she tells me. “Just look at this.” She waves an arm around her tiny little home. “It’s so beautiful. Seriously, how did you manage to do this?”

  “I had some time.”

  “I don’t think my house has been this clean since I bought it,” she says.

  At that, I only laugh.

  “Well, it was a nice distraction from my inability to find out anything new online. I tried looking up old classmates online that didn’t really like Sammy much, but the problem is that pretty much everyone did like him.”

  “He was a good guy.”

  “I just don’t know how anyone would have killed him,” I sigh.

  I’ve been over this five million times in my head. Over and over, I’ve gone over this. The problem is that I don’t really have any suspects. I don’t really know anyone who would have wanted him to die.

  “Me neither,” she says. “After he died, I followed the newspapers when they were talking about it, but…”

  “No one had much to say.”

  “Not really. It seemed like it was an open and shut case. At least, that’s what everyone said.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think that there are always a lot of different sides to every story,” she says carefully. “And sometime, it’s hard to see the other sides if you don’t know who all the players are.”

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Maybe we can get the old police reports,” she says with a shrug.

  “I don’t know if that will help.”

  “Your attorney might have copies,” she says. “Or notes they can give us.”

  “I’ll call tomorrow,” I tell her. It’s already after business hours, and I know that we’re both tired. Tomorrow is a fresh day that offers a new start, and I’m willing to bet that it’s going to be a good time to get a move on things.

  “Okay,” she says. “So, what are you cooking?” Finley looks over toward the stove.

  “Oh, shit!” I jump up. “The noodles.”

  They’re almost boiling over. I hurry over and start franticly stirring. Finley doesn’t react. She just watches me calmly.

  “You like cooking,” she says carefully. It’s an important observation: mostly because I haven’t cooked in years. I didn’t exactly have a lot of chances to cook in prison, but yeah, I used to love being in a kitchen.

  “I was a cook when I was in college,” I tell her.

  “I remember. You made that special extra-bacon burger over at Cassidy’s.”

  “You remember that?”

  It feels like a lifetime ago.

  “Of course, I remember,” she says with a shrug. “It was the best burger I’ve ever had. After you left, they stopped making them.”

  “That’s too bad. It was a good place to work.”

  “They’re still open, but just barely,” she tells me. “They’re running on fumes at this point. The tourist industry here just isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Well, times change, unfortunately.”

  It was one of those crappy things about living in a small town. Sometimes you could do all of the right things and still get screwed over when it came to stuff like business or money or jobs.

  I check the garlic bread in the oven and once I’m satisfied that everything looks okay, I turn back to Finley.

  “So, aside from missing me terribly,” I wink at her. “How was the rest of your day?”

  “It was fine,” she shakes her head. “Nothing special.”

  She pauses, though, and looks up at me sharply, as though she just remembered something.

  “What is it?” I ask, suddenly tense. If she’s looking like that, then whatever she has to say isn’t good. Not at all.

  “Someone came into the library today. I didn’t think about it at first.”

  Someone?

  Who?

  Obviously, someone from my past.

  “Ted,” she says carefully. “And it was really weird, Neil. His wife came in, too, and they were really strange about him using the computer. First he wanted to talk about you,” she says.

  “Did you tell him I’m here with you?” I tense, knowing that there’s no way she’d betray me, but still feeling the need to ask.

  “Not a chance,” she says carefully. I appreciate that she’s not offended by the fact that I’m asking. If anything, she seems too calm about the entire thing. “I just listened. He used the computer and then his wife came in. I pretended to be busy so they both finally left, but…”

  “What?”

  “Neil, I checked the Internet history on the computer he was using. He was trying to find out information about you. He was reading about the murder.”

  Chapter Seven

  Finley

  He looks scared and betrayed and sad, and I can’t stop myself from moving to him and wrapping my arms around him.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell him.

  “We need to go look at the mill,” he says.

  “Now?”

  I look at the windows. It’s already getting dark. The sun sets early these days, but I know that he’s right. If that was where everything happened, then it’s a good place to start when it comes to finding any long-forgotten or long-missed clues.

  “In the morning,” he says. “I’ll go first thing.”

  “I’m not working tomorrow,” I tell him. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You don’t have to,” he looks at me carefully, and I can’t tell whether he doesn’t want me to drive him or he doesn’t want to be inconvenienced by me. Is he scared to go alone? Or does he want to be by himself so he can explore without any distractions?

  “I don’t mind,” I say.

  “I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Will I be in your way?”

  “Never.”

  “Then I’ll go.”

  He looks down at me and cups my face. In this moment, the gesture is intimate and sweet: very different from yesterday, or maybe it’s the same. Maybe I’m just completely enamored with this guy and I don’t know where to go or what to do.

  Maybe all I can think about is him.

  “You’re swe
et,” he says.

  “And you’re handsome.”

  He raises an eyebrow, obviously surprised.

  “Why, Finley, I do believe that’s the sweetest compliment that’s ever dripped from your lips.”

  I blush a little bit.

  Is it?

  I was always very careful not to flirt too much in my letters. I’m kind of a flirty person in general, but I didn’t want to give this guy the wrong impression. I didn’t want to be one of those girls who writes to convicts and falls in love with them.

  That’s definitely not my style.

  But Neil…

  Well, I knew him before. Not well or anything, but still, we had a little bit of a connection and now it seems like that connection has only grown.

  “Tell me what you want, Finley,” he says, stroking my cheek.

  “I…to come with you tomorrow?”

  It comes out like a question, like somehow I’m not even really sure what I want. How horrible is that? I definitely know what I want. It’s not just to come with him. It’s more.

  And I think he knows that.

  “No, Finley,” he says. “Tell me what you really want.”

  And this is the hard part.

  I’ve dated before.

  Plenty of times, really.

  I’ve dated a lot. Like, a lot.

  But there’s a difference between dating a few people and dating a lot of people and there are different levels of experience that accompany your dating choices.

  When Neil was locked away, I wasn’t exactly pining after him. I wasn’t celibate. Not really. I also didn’t have a huge amount of prospects. I had a couple of boyfriends and a couple of girlfriends, but nothing wildly serious, and none of them ever came close to making me feel the way he’s making me feel right now.

  He’s scaring me a little bit, if I’m honest. Heat is burning inside of me and threatening to escape from my skin. All I really want is him.