Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

cost?”
    “Cammie . . .”
    “Look,” she said, “lots of girls go out with guys who try and kill them. It happens all the time.” She attempted a smile, one Justin did not return.
    “Stop trying to turn this into a joke,” he said. “This is serious. What happened to you in that shed—when Kyle tried to fry you with that thing—”
    “The klystron tube. It was a microwave called a klystron tube.”
    “Whatever. My point is that attempted murder is a big deal. Some people go into post-traumatic stress disorder from just half the stuff you’ve been through.”
    This was not where she’d thought the conversation was headed. “I’m pretty tough.”
    “But I can see it. It’s like you’re trying to pretend things never happened when they did. Listen, I checked, and there’s money in the victim-assistant program for a counselor. I think maybe you should take advantage of the funds.”
    It took a moment for her to process what he was saying. “Is that what you’re doing? You took me out just to make sure I’m all right? You think I’m going mental or something?”
    He looked at her, confused. “No. No, no, no. I don’t think—It’s just—I want to make sure you’re okay. I care about you.” Her reached out his hand and placed it on top of hers. “Really.”
    There was music in the background, some Latin number whose notes peaked over the hum of the crowd. The acoustics were muddied by the sound bouncing off the tile that adorned the walls, the floor, even the tabletop itself. Thankfully, at that moment, their server appeared, setting down their food. Cameryn kept her eyes glued to the salad placed before her. Her mind, though, remained on high alert, because Justin’s hand was still on hers. She could feel his calluses on her skin, like sandpaper.
    When their server had gone, he squeezed the ends of Cameryn’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said. He pulled his hand away, suddenly awkward. Cameryn dropped her hand to her lap.
    “I didn’t mean to make you angry,” said Justin.
    “Who says I’m angry?”
    “Your face says you’re angry. You’re pissed that I asked you to go to counseling. Hey, I’d take some therapy myself, as long as it was free.” Justin laughed self-consciously. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck like a cork on water.
    “I get it, Justin. No worries. I’ll check into it,” she lied.
    “I can tell there’s a lot going on in your head.”
    “Are you turning into a psychic like Lyric?”
    “Of course not,” he said. His grin was slightly off center. “But I see things. It’s like—when I said Baby Doe might have been murdered, your face went blank. It happened in the autopsy suite, too.”
    “I sound mysterious.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a cherry tomato. “It’s like you think I have something to hide.”
    “Do you?”
    “No.” Cameryn could look at him now, at his blue-green eyes, a mix of water and grass, thickly fringed by lashes her mammaw said were wasted on a man. Inside, she felt strangely calm. She liked him, that was true, but she couldn’t abide the way he saw through her. No one else, not even Lyric, had been able to perceive her soul like Justin. In a way she felt naked. Somewhere deep inside, she was afraid of what else Justin might see. It was wrong to think she could escape from her troubles with him. He wouldn’t let her pretend.
    Throughout dinner she deflected him with small talk about the winter fair and bits of gossip from town. Try as he might, he couldn’t penetrate her armor. When he finally dropped her off in front of her house, he said, “Baby Doe’s brain will be hard by Monday. You and I can go together.”
    “I think I’m going to skip it,” Cameryn told him. “I’ve got school.”
    “I can take you after, when school lets out. I think this is really important.” He reached out and put his hand on her arm. She felt that small jolt of electricity connecting them, thin as a wire.
    “Okay. We’ll go together.”
    “Cammie,” he said in a thickened voice. “I don’t know what happened back there at Francisco’s—I was just trying to help. There was more I wanted to say, but—”
    “I know. And you did help. Thanks for the dinner. I really needed a break.” She reached for the door handle, avoiding his eyes. “See ya,” she said, hurriedly getting out of his car.
    Her father was already home. She could see his head through the front window, bobbing gently in sleep as he