Page 23 of Passerby: A Psychological Thriller
“Yeah, your ex.”
“Whatever—she said Bobby Holt’s mother wants charges filed against Davis for assaulting her son. She thinks the police are looking at the wrong person in the Jenkins’ investigation.”
“I couldn’t care less what that woman thinks. That entire family is nuts. And anyway, it wasn’t an assault. It was a fight.”
I watch Davis standing at the edge of the dance floor. Half of me feels sorry for him, the other half of me is furious at him for not thinking this through. He never thinks things through.
“Either way,” Cole says. “She’s asserting that your brother is a violent criminal, and she wants it in print.”
“Anything to take the attention off the fact her son is a rapist.”
“Is allegedly a rapist. Maybe.”
“Semantics.”
“That’s not all. She’s threatening to sue your family, Ruth.”
“So let her,” I scoff. The words sound brave as I say them, and yet I can’t deny the sinking feeling inside.
“Gabby Jenkins told the police she never saw her attacker. So, if it was Bobby Holt, she isn’t saying.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s common,” he offers, cautiously. He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “Just don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”
“So…what…” I say, changing the subject. “You and Gina… You’re seeing each other again?”
“Not really.” He crosses the porch and grabs another beer from the ice bucket. “Just sometimes here and there.”
He pops the cap and holds the bottle out to me. “Care for one?”
“No.”
I watch his mouth as he takes a long pull off the bottle. It shouldn’t turn me on, considering what he’s just told me. But it really, really does. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good punch in the gut. Whatever it takes to make me feel something.
“Gina called me on account that the story she was writing had something to do with Davis.”
“Right.”
Cole grins. He stares at me for a long second, a strange look on his face. “Are you jealous, Ruth Channing?”
“Fuck off.”
“What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can wait around forever.”
“No one asked you to.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ruth
The conversation with Cole bothers me enough that I go into full-on hermit mode, retreating to the kitchen. Not that it’s truly possible to hide at an event with hundreds of people, but nevertheless I try.
I’m in the kitchen simultaneously hiding and pretending to search for the extra cake cutter when I hear a commotion outside.
I stretch on my tippy-toes, straining toward the window, trying to see through the crowd. A sick feeling tugs at my gut. I rush out onto the enclosed patio, navigating around guests and caterers, holding trays.
When I reach the door, my pulse quickens. What I see brings up a mixture of panic and despair. Davis has his fist raised in midair. He’s straddling someone, and they are tussling on the ground, shuffling back and forth. Flinging the screen door open, I break out in a full sprint in their direction, all the while my eyes search the crowd for Johnny.