The Perfect Lie. Блейк Пирс

of their own destinies. I’m a single, gay black man and sometimes she made me want to marry a middle-aged white guy just so I could take charge of my life.”

      “So were you close?” Jessie asked.

      “Not that close,” he said. “We’d get coffee—here sometimes actually, or go for a drink. I walked her home a couple of times late at night. But I wouldn’t say were friends—more casual work friendly. I think she liked me because I was one of the few men in that club who didn’t hit on her all the time.”

      “Were any of them especially aggressive?” Ryan asked.

      “I’m not sure I’m the best judge of what women consider aggressive these days,” he admitted. “All I can say is that she never seemed intimidated by any of them. She had no problem shutting a guy down hard if he got out of line.”

      “Do you know her relationship status?” Jessie asked. “You told the officers upstairs that she wasn’t involved.”

      “I said I didn’t think she was currently involved. I know she was dating some guy a few months ago. But after it ended she got really secretive about her romantic life. And it wasn’t my place to push so I can’t claim to be an expert.”

      “Vin,” Jessie asked, deciding to cut to the question she knew they’d be tangling with the rest of the day, “do you think Taylor might have killed herself?”

      He responded immediately and with an intensity they hadn’t yet seen from him.

      “No way. Taylor just wasn’t that kind of person. She was driven, focused. She was one of those people who had concrete goals. She wanted to start her own gym. She never would have short-circuited herself. She was what I like to call a marrow sucker.”

      “What does that mean?” Jessie asked.

      “She sucked the marrow out of life. She never would have ended hers.”

      They all sat quietly for a moment before Ryan returned to a less philosophical topic.

      “Do you know the name of her ex?” he asked.

      “No. But I think one of the female trainers at the club might. I remember that she said she saw him drop Taylor off once and recognized him.”

      As Vin answered, Jessie’s eyes went to the coffee shop entrance, where a clearly homeless man walked in. He had a long beard and shoes with soles that were so loose they flopped every time he lifted a foot.

      That wasn’t what caught her attention though. Something red was dripping from the man’s left hand and his right hand was hidden under his jacket. He was muttering to himself as he moved among the other customers, seemingly bumping into some of them intentionally.

      “What’s that trainer’s name?” Ryan asked. His back was to the door and he hadn’t noticed the man yet.

      “Chianti.”

      “Are you serious?” Ryan asked, laughing involuntarily and spitting up a bit of his coffee.

      “I don’t know if that’s her birth name,” Vin said, smiling for the first time. “But at the gym she goes by Chianti Rossellini. It’s not my place to judge.”

      “Why do I think that’s not actually your philosophy, Vin?” Jessie said archly as she kept half an eye on the homeless man.

      Vin raised his eyebrows provocatively.

      “I hate to break this up this gossip session…” Ryan said.

      “You can do whatever you want, brown eyes,” Vin interrupted, batting his own.

      Ryan didn’t respond to that, instead plowing ahead.

      “But we need to ask you about when you found Taylor. You told the officers the window was open?”

      Vin’s face immediately fell.

      “Just a little bit, yes. I knocked first and checked the door, which was locked. But when she didn’t respond I opened the window wider and climbed in. I guess I could have called 911 first. But I thought if she was hurt and needed help, I shouldn’t just stand there waiting around.”

      “You don’t have to justify yourself, Vin,” Jessie said. “You were worried about a friend. I’m sure the evidence will support that.”

      “Thank you,” Vin said, his voice cracking slightly.

      Jessie would have had a stronger emotional reaction to him if she wasn’t so fixated on the homeless man with the small stream of blood dripping from his arm. He was now rocking back and forth from heel to toe and his right hand was moving under his jacket, which appeared to be damp with a thick liquid. It looked like he was hitting himself in the hip. His lips were still moving but whatever he was muttering was now inaudible, though the middle-aged woman in line ahead of him kept glancing back nervously.

      “Hey, Ryan,” she said nonchalantly, “Take a casual look over your left shoulder at the bearded guy in line.”

      Ryan glanced over, as did Vin.

      “The one who can’t stop moving his body or his lips?” Ryan asked.

      “Yep,” Jessie confirmed. “He’s bleeding from his left arm and I think he’s holding something with his right hand under the jacket.”

      “What do you think it is?”

      “I’m not sure. But I noticed a dark, wet stain in the hip area of the jacket. So I’m assuming it’s whatever made his other hand bleed. Also, he seems pretty agitated. He was bumping into other customers and not on accident.”

      “It could be something,” Ryan said quietly. “Or he could be like half the folks we passed on the street on the way over here.”

      “That’s true,” Jessie agreed, “though the whole ‘blood’ thing adds a little drama. Also, all the baristas look terrified and I bet they have homeless folks come in here all the time.”

      “Fair point,” Ryan said, wincing slightly as he stood up. “I think I might get in line for a refill. Jessie, maybe you could quietly grab that officer from outside and ask him to come in as a precaution?”

      Jessie nodded and stood up herself, trying to hide the twinge of pain she felt in both her back and her leg after having been immobile for several minutes. As she moved to the shop entrance, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Ryan had taken up a position right behind the mumbling man. She pushed open the front door and waved to the uniformed officer she’d chastised earlier.

      “I think we may have a situation in here,” she said. “The bearded man standing in front of Detective Hernandez might have a weapon under his jacket. We’re not sure but we could use some backup just in case.”

      She had barely finished her sentence when a loud scream erupted from inside. She turned around to see the middle-aged woman in line clutching her right shoulder with her left hand. Behind her, Ryan was struggling to rip a hunting knife out of the hands of the mumbling man. But despite his size advantage, it was a losing battle.

      The other man had a frenzied anger about him and Ryan clearly wasn’t at full strength. Within moments, the man had freed himself. Ryan lost his balance and fell to the floor as the man regrouped and lunged at him.

      Jessie hurried back inside, unbuttoning her gun holster as she moved toward them. She was just removing her weapon when there was a flash of movement in front of her. It was Vin Stacey, who leapt at the mumbling man, smashing his forearm into the man’s jaw and sending him careening back against the counter.

      The knife flew out of the dazed man’s hand and slid across the floor. Vin stood over him, ready to proceed if necessary. It wasn’t. A moment later, the officer was on the man, turning him onto his stomach and cuffing him. Jessie reholstered her gun and knelt down beside Ryan.

      “You okay?” she asked urgently.

      “Yeah. I’ll recover, although I’m not sure my pride will.”

      Vin walked over and extended his hand.

      “Want a little