Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 70- Callie

3 Weeks Later

"Truly a pleasure to see you again Agent Rivers." Customer service smile firmly in place, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I've seen more of this man in the past three weeks than either my aunt or my best friend. Considering both have barely let me out of their sight, I'm starting to want to strangle the man.

"I brought coffee." With his hand holding the bribe hostage, he does his best to look less official. It doesn't work anymore than the other times he's tried, but I still appreciate the caffeine. "Can I come in?"

I open the door to my apartment wider. There's no point trying to dissuade him. It's either this or he comes back later to bring me to the station. With him and his partner currently working out of the local sheriff's office, this is as good as it gets. Colt might have been a different county, but he had people everywhere and I can't stand the way they stare at me like they know I had something to do with his disappearance. His dad certainly does.

Rivers and his partner, a portly man whose name escapes me though he reminds me of one of the Dursleys, enter and take a glance around. Nothing much has changed from the other dozens of times they've seen it.

I've done a bit better in the past week once I got over crying every time I heard Hozier or saw a trailer for the new Superman movie. Not my finest moments, but I've been through a lot and it's to be expected. At least that's what my therapist told me. She's court appointed, so despite her assurances that she's bound by client privilege she's getting only bare bones truth from me. Still, it helps.

Rivers' shrewd eyes miss nothing and they remind me so much of Jax that my heart clenches in my chest. I miss them terribly, but I need to do this. Already I'm proud of the way I haven't cowered under the thousands of questions, my story never wavering except of the most inconsequential of details. Sitting at my dining room table, I do my best to clean up the weeks of old mail and last night's takeout. Housekeeping has been pretty low on my list of priorities.

"Is there something new I can help you with?" I drink the coffee, that while good, is not the cheap cappuccino I crave. I bury that thought and everything that I know follows it. Not the time.

"Just wanted to come in and touch base with you. How are you doing? Do you mind if I record?"

"It's fine," I shrug. He's going to record either way and I'm over this song and dance. "I'm tired," I sigh. "I just want to go back to normal. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. While I appreciate the officer sitting outside my apartment, do I still need it? It's been nice to leave my place without a reporter in my face, thanks by the way, but do you really think I'm still in danger?"

"Until they're caught, I can't say for certain. Are you sure you never saw them without their masks?"

"They rarely interacted with me. I had a room with a bed and access to a bathroom. Meals were provided on a plate and taken away while I slept. They kept their masks on and their skin covered. I'm grateful because I think it's what allowed them to release me."

"Remind me again how you got those burns Miss Danvers," the portly one interrupts.

I just barely resist rolling my eyes. Dursley, I've taken to calling him in my head, gives me the ick. Had I known they would be showing up, I would have put on a bra. As it is, I'm still in a ratty t shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that I slept in. They may not be Dario's, but they remind me of him and that helps to ease the loneliness while I sleep. Although Agent Rivers is not my favorite person in the world, he keeps things professional. If he's not staring at my face, he's reading my body language or taking in his surroundings. Dursley is staring directly at my chest.