Kisscut by Karin Slaughter Read Free Book Online Page B

correct change would, or getting a stain off the cafeteria floor. What her job gave her these days was structure. She had to show up at eight in the morning. Certain tasks were expected of her. Brad needed direction. At noon, they had lunch, or, rather, Brad did. Lena did not have an appetite lately. Around three, they stopped for coffee at the Donut King over in Madison. They were back at the station by six and Lena 's world fell apart until it was time to go back to work the next day. On the rare nights-nights like last night-when Jeffrey allowed her to take overtime, she nearly wept with relief.
    Hank asked, "You okay now?" the accusatory tone still in his voice.
    She gave it right back to him. "Just drop it."
    "Yeah, okay," he answered, thumping the turning signal down as he stopped behind a line of cars in front of the church. They were both silent as the car inched closer to the parking lot.
    Lena looked up at the small white building, resenting it for being there. She had never liked church and had even been thrown out of Sunday school at the age of twelve for ripping out the pages of a Bible. When Hank had confronted her, she had told him she had done it out of boredom, but the truth was that even then Lena had resented rules. She hated being told what to do. She could not follow an authority that had not proven itself to her. The only reason she was good at being a cop was she had a certain degree of autonomy in the field, and everyone had to listen to her when she told them to.
    "That girl," Hank said, picking up the conversation as if the last ten minutes had not happened. "It's a sad thing, what she did."
    "Yeah," Lena shrugged, not really wanting to think about it.
    "People get lost along the way, I guess," Hank said. "Don't ask nobody for help until it's too late." He paused, then, "Not until it's too late."
    She knew what he was doing, making a comparison between the dead girl and herself. Some bullshit A.A. pamphlet probably had the directions for doing this on the back, right beside a little space where you could fill in your sponsor's name and phone number.
    Lena snapped, "If I was going to kill myself, I would have done it my first day home."
    "I wasn't talking about you," Hank shot back.
    "Bullshit," she hissed. She waited a beat, then said, "I thought you were going home soon."
    "I am," he answered.
    "Good," she told him, and for the moment, she really meant it. Hank had been living with her since she came home from the hospital, and Lena was over having him pry into every part of her life.
    "I got a business to run," he told her, as if the dilapidated bar he owned on the outskirts of Reece was IBM. "I need to get back to it. I'll leave tonight if you want me to."
    "Fine," she said, but her heart started pounding at the thought of being alone at night. Lena did not want Hank in her home, but she knew that she would never feel safe if he left. Even during the daytime when she was working and Hank went to check on his bar, she felt an aching fear that he would get into a car accident or just decide not to come back at all, and Lena would have to come home to a dark, empty house. Hank was not just an unwanted house guest. He was her shield.
    He told her, "I got better things I could be doing."
    She was quiet, though in her mind, she repeated her mantra-please don't leave me, please don't leave me. Her throat was closing up with the need to say it out loud.
    The car jerked as Hank accelerated, taking a parking space close to the chapel. He slammed the gear into park and the old sedan rocked back and forth several times before it settled.
    He glanced at her, and she could tell that he knew he had her. "You want me to go? Tell me to go, then. You never had a hard time telling me to leave before."
    She bit her lip hard, wanting to taste blood. Instead of her flesh giving, her front teeth moved, and she put her hand to her mouth, startled by the reminder.
    "What? You can't talk now?"
    Lena choked a sob, overcome