Coke with a Twist (A Mercy Watts short)

Coke with a Twist (A Mercy Watts short) by A.W. Hartoin Page B

Book: Coke with a Twist (A Mercy Watts short) by A.W. Hartoin Read Free Book Online
Authors: A.W. Hartoin
everyone they knew about the great sex they had, and were arrested two days after the attack. The GHB was the only complication. They denied giving it to Lara. After two polygraphs and hours of interrogation, the cops were persuaded to believe them. That left the question of who drugged Lara and why he didn’t rape her. Byers was seen scoping out Lara an hour before the attack and a week later he was missing. The Haven family felt the cops weren’t being aggressive enough and hired Dad to find Byers.  
    “He didn’t rape her,” I said.
    “If he gave her GHB, he wanted to.”
    “GHB can be used for recreational purposes.”
    “A guy doesn’t slip it into an eighteen-year-old girl’s soda at a party for recreation and you know it.”  
    “Yeah, yeah,” I said.
    Pete brushed his dark blond hair out of his face. “We should get you home.”
    We weren’t going anywhere. At least, we weren’t going together. Pete had to go back to the hospital and I’d go home alone, again. We walked out to my truck and Pete asked, “So when do I get to see you again?”
    “Whenever you can fit me into your busy schedule.”
    “That’s not very encouraging, is it?”
    “No, it isn’t,” I said with a sigh.
    A cold October wind came off the Mississippi and Pete’s cheeks looked raw beneath his tired eyes. “I’m going,” I said, but he pulled me to him. He placed my hands on his chest under his jacket and I felt a surge of warmth when he kissed me. It was slow and sweet at first, then deep, and finished with my lower lip in his mouth. He added some kisses down my neck for effect. Pete had lots of effects.
    “Are you going to be here tomorrow?” Pete said between kisses.
    “Yes. A couple more nights couldn’t hurt, especially if you’ll be by.”
    “I’ll come over if the ER’s slow. Have you talked to the guys in the frat?”
    “Dad has,” I said.
    “How about the little sisters?”
    “The what?” I asked.  
    “Frats are matched up with sororities and they’re called little sisters.”
    “Dad didn’t mention it.”
    “I have a friend. You can talk to her,” he said.
    “And why would you do that? I thought you didn’t like me working on this,” I said.  
    “I don’t, but the sooner you find him, the better. It’s not like you’re going to stop because I don’t like it.”
    “Thanks for backing me up on that.”    
    We said good-bye and Tom smiled at me from beside the dumpster as I got into my truck. He called out that he’d see me tomorrow and raced inside the bar. I clunked my forehead on the steering wheel. More time at the ABC. That was the last thing I wanted. I drove home determined to soak my feet and maybe my head.

The next morning, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Dad wanted a progress report, every floor in my hospital wanted me to work a double shift, and Mom called for no reason. Typical Mom. Lastly, Pete texted his friend’s number to me.  
    After a couple of hours of stalling, I got up the nerve to cold call her. Pete had already asked her to arrange a meeting with the sorority president. I gave her my e-mail address and she promised to send me the entire list of current little sisters. She asked no questions, expressed interest in meeting me, and we hung up. She’d made my meeting with the president at four.  
    I spent the rest of the afternoon rifling through my closet trying to find something suitably college. Something that said, “I’m one of you.” I put on a Gap long-sleeve tee and low-rise khakis. I pulled my blonde hair back and installed a bow. The look was pretty generic, but I wanted to resemble Marilyn as little as possible.
    I needn’t have bothered. The sorority house wasn’t what I expected. Whatever happened to columns and class? It looked like a turn-of-the-century apartment house with rusting gutters and peeling paint. Once inside, a freshman doing the doorman thing greeted me. She had a bow, too. I told her about my appointment

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