Chapter 6: A Second Chance

CLARA

The wolves sure ~were~ upset last night—I figured it had something to do with me surviving their attack in the woods.

I sat up a little in my chair and tilted my head, subtly angling my ear toward the lady who had spoken.

She sat across from another middle-aged woman, who was nodding vigorously.

“I did! Though it almost sounded like they were fighting each other or something. Do you think another pack is trying to move in and these people turning up dead got in the way? I really hope not.

“Having one pack that we aren’t allowed to do anything about is bad enough. We definitely don’t need two. Especially if they’re going to be fighting each other all night and keeping my kids up. Or mauling anyone who lives on the outskirts of town.”

~Two~ packs?

That did make sense. I’d wondered why the wolves chasing me last night seemed to be fended off by yet more wolves. Fighting over territory sure made more sense than half the wolves trying to keep a human safe.

I didn’t get to eavesdrop anymore, though, because Jason arrived with a lightly steaming tray.

I began to drool just looking at the golden grilled cheese and creamy soup. But I maintained my composure and ate like a human, not a rabid raccoon.

“So, how’d your interview go? You must have gotten a ton of material with how long you were out there.” Jason pointed at me with the point of his triangle-cut sandwich before dipping it in the soup and biting it off.

I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. “It was fine. We spent most of the time with him showing me all of his art, and only a little bit of it actually talking. The article might be a little sparse, so I’ve been doing some research online as well.”

“Typical artist,” Jason replied through a mouthful, then chewed and swallowed. “You fell into the most common blunder when interviewing artists: letting them show you their art before you’ve finished asking all of your questions.

“I suppose you could always schedule a second interview if your city-girl self isn’t too afraid to go back into the woods. The article is scheduled for the end of the month, right? Just turn in what you have on Friday and then finish it after the second round.”

Go see Elias again?

Not gonna lie—there were plenty of parts of me that took that plan and ran with it. I began picturing his bare chest and bulging muscles, the way he towered over me…

It was a good thing women don’t have such an obvious tell as men, because I would have been flying at full mast right about now.

“Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea. Maybe this time he’ll let me make a request for an earlier interview instead of stating a time and hanging up on me.”

My nose wrinkled with irritation, and Jason snickered at my misfortune. ~What an asshole.~

We continued to have a casual, work-related conversation as we finished our lunch—which, I have to admit, ~was delicious~—but my mind wasn’t really there.

As soon as Jason had put the thought of a second interview in my head, it took off like mint in a flowerbed. I still felt drawn to the woods, and snippets of my dream continued to flash through my memory.

~Maybe I was actually drawn to the man in the woods, but hey. It was just a crush.

By the time we made it back to the office, my mind was made up. I opened my call history and redialed Elias, my heart pounding in my chest.

What if he said no?

Well, then I’d just write my article using what I had and never think of him again. Easy.

“Hello, Clara. Nice to hear from you again.”

His voice settled somewhere deep in my nether regions, and I was more than a little embarrassed by how much I liked hearing it—even if he sounded just a little aloof.

“Hello, Elias. Yes, it’s me. I was wondering if I could schedule a second interview? I realized as I was attempting to write the article today that there are still some questions I’d like to ask you.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and for a moment I thought he’d hung up on me.

But then he rumbled, “All right, I suppose I can do that. Two p.m. on Friday. Wear sturdier shoes. You looked ridiculous wearing heels in the woods.”

~Click.~

“The ~nerve~ of that man!” I hissed and placed my phone face down on the desk.

I wanted to throw it, but A) the phone hadn’t actually done anything to me, and B) if I broke it, I’d have to tell the boss and deal with a broken screen for at least a few paychecks.

Not worth it.

Jason began to laugh and spun around in his chair.

“Did it again, did he? Well, it seems you aren’t getting any better at standing your ground with Mr. Artist. Better practice before your next interview, or you might have to schedule a third.”

Again I was tempted to throw my phone, but this time the target was Jason’s big, fat head.

“You’re lucky I can’t afford a new phone right now, Mr. Annoying Coworker. I may not be a Hispanic mom, but my aim with inanimate objects is just as good.”

I pantomimed throwing a shoe at him and did my best not to giggle while doing it.

The approach of Mr. Perkins cut our banter short, and I began wondering how I was going to survive until two p.m. on Friday. I’d definitely have to ask for more work.

The boss once again defiled the corner of my desk by sitting on it. “How is the article coming, Clara?”

I gave him my best smile and gestured at the screen. “It’s coming. I need more material though, so I’ve scheduled another interview with Elias.

“In the meantime, could I help Jason with the murder cases? This isn’t enough to keep me busy. I ~know~ you saw on my resume that I’ve been a journalist for a long time. You don’t have to handle me with kid gloves.”

Mr. Perkins looked me up and down, lowered his eyebrows slightly, then nodded.

“I suppose you’ve earned a chance to prove yourself to me. If there’s a serial killer out there, it’s only a matter of time until another body shows up. Plenty of material for two journalists—between interviewing the public and trying to get information from the police.

“Just leave the police to Jason—they know him. Someone new would probably just get on their nerves.”

Victory!

With access to the murder case files, I could look a little deeper into my suspicions.

Did Elias really have paintings of the crime scenes chilling in his house? Or had my panicked brain been making things up at the time?

Deep down, I really hoped it was the latter.

***

I did, in fact, wear sturdier shoes this time. It seemed silly considering I’d probably just take them off again at the door, but I figured it was easier to play along with Elias’s requests than risk not getting the interview.

Or the next view of those shoulders.

The drive through the spooky woods wasn’t nearly as terrible this time. Maybe it was knowing there really was an end, and said end wasn’t the Addams house—even though they ended up being perfectly nice people, go figure.

Plus? No wolves.

My rattling deathtrap managed the journey with axles intact, and I was feeling quite excited when I rolled to a stop behind Elias’s massive Jeeps.

Why he needed two was beyond me, but then again, why had my ex needed fifteen guns? I bet Elias actually drove his Jeeps.

I extracted myself from the car, straightened my sweater, and confidently walked up to the door. No more nervous reporter here!

But I was caught off guard when the door opened after only one knock, throwing my balance off, and I stumbled forward.

My face definitely would have become intimately familiar with his flooring if Elias hadn’t reached out with his powerful arm and caught me across the chest.

“I haven’t invited you in yet,” Elias rumbled, his deep voice vibrating in my chest.

He helped steady me on my feet and stepped out of the doorway so I could come inside. I took off my tennis shoes and stood in front of the again-shirtless Elias.

“You’re the one who was so eager to open the door that you didn’t wait for me to finish knocking,” I retorted.

I’m nearly one hundred percent sure he was amused by my sass rather than annoyed, but he continued to be allergic to smiling.

Instead, he silently closed the door and led me to the couch, where a steaming cup of tea was already waiting for me.

Today, the strong scent of mint wafted up from the surface of the liquid, so I simply added a spoonful of sugar before settling back against the leather.

Elias took the chair again and began ladling sugar into his own tea, followed by a stream of cream.

“Not a huge fan of mint?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.

Elias blinked at me a couple of times, looked down at his cup, and then back at me.

“I like flavor,” he replied.

It was such a deadpan delivery that I couldn’t help laughing. He slightly lifted his nose as if offended by my reaction and took a sip of his mint-flavored sugar milk.

“You had more questions?”

I nodded and managed to calm my giggles.

“Yes. I realized I spent too much time admiring your work and not enough time getting to know you and your process.”

“But my work is the important part,” Elias argued, gesturing around him. “It speaks for itself. Nobody wants or needs to know about the face behind it.”

Something about the way he said that made me feel sad, somehow.

I felt like he lived the “lonely, tortured artist” trope and fully believed it—which was ~his~ problem, honestly. But I couldn’t help wanting to reach out and grab his hand.

“Why do you say that, Elias? That nobody wants to know about you?”

“I’m not a good person.”