The Parable of the Mustard Seed Read online

  It scared Bel to catch himself thinking that way. He didn’t blame Whitlock for his anger, but he sure as hell blamed him for killing Cooper.

  “Enough, Clayton,” Bel said, his voice hard. “You keep moving. I’m gonna get Whitlock home.”

  For a second, Bel thought Clayton was gonna fight. Was gonna lunge at Whitlock even though Bel was right there. At the very least, Bel expected Clayton to say something. But with a last glare at Whitlock, Clayton climbed back in the truck, put it in drive, and crept past Bel’s cruiser.

  When the truck was out of sight, Bel turned to Whitlock.

  “Get in the car.”

  Whitlock didn’t move. He gazed at the spot where Clayton had been and drew in a shuddering breath.

  “Whitlock. I said get in the car.” Bel stepped toward him, and Whitlock cringed back. Stared at Bel with eyes Bel remembered from nights at Harnee’s—unfocused, bloodshot, the sockets bruised looking. He blinked in the glare from the headlights.

  “You wanna walk all night, or you wanna ride home?”

  Whitlock took a couple of steps toward the cruiser. Nodded at the back door. “In there?”

  “Yeah. In the back, Whitlock.” Bel climbed in behind the wheel. Whitlock hesitated.

  “Get in the goddamn car. You’re lucky I don’t arrest you. What’re you on, huh? If I searched you, what would I find?”

  “You can search me,” Whitlock said softly. He walked closer to Bel, who tried not to look at the front of his jeans. Whitlock leaned against the cruiser, one arm on the roof, his hip cocked, drawing the fabric of his T-shirt tight. “Want to?”

  “Back of the car,” Bel repeated. “You get in now, it’s a ride home. You don’t, it’s cuffs and the station.”

  Whitlock gave a sharp inhale that made Bel’s dick stir. Then he grinned, said, “Yes, sir,” and stepped away from the window.

  Bel couldn’t see Whitlock’s face as he slid into the backseat of the cruiser. Whitlock pulled the door shut and then sat staring straight ahead through the partition.

  “Tell me how to get to your place,” Bel said.

  Whitlock didn’t answer.

  “You can do that much, can’t you? Not so trashed you can’t tell me where you live?”

  No answer.

  “I can get out to Kamchee, but you gotta tell me where your cabin is.”

  Whitlock glanced out the window.

  Bel turned and slapped the partition. “Damn it, Whitlock!”

  Whitlock jerked in the seat. He struck the partition right back, then fumbled for the door handle, but he was locked in. He planted his hands in a wide stance on either side of him, drew his legs up onto the seat, and stared down into the seat well as though it was full of alligators or something, shaking.

  “Nutcase,” Bel muttered, stepping on the gas. They headed toward Kamchee. Bel kept sneaking glances at his passenger. Whitlock’s breathing gradually slowed, and Bel saw him looking around, confused but obviously trying to orient himself. He looked up finally and met Bel’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “I’m under arrest?” His voice sounded different—harder. Wary.

  Bel shook his head. “I don’t have time to screw around with that. Tell me how to get to your place.”

  “My car?”

  Bel held his tongue. The guy was slower than a frozen creek, and Bel hated how much he liked looking at him. Only thing more fucked up than being a murderer was having a hard-on for one. “You can get it tomorrow.”

  Whitlock closed his eyes briefly and nodded. Told Bel how to get to his cabin.

  “Not real smart, was it?” Bel asked. “Goading Clayton like that?”

  “I don’t know.” The words were almost inaudible.

  They drove in silence a while longer, until Whitlock pointed out the turn to his cabin.

  When he let Whitlock out, Bel suggested, “Sober up.”

  But Whitlock seemed plenty sober now. Didn’t sway or grin. His expression was focused, almost angry. “Thank you for the ride,” he said stiffly.

  He walked up the gravel drive and let himself into the cabin. A light went on. Bel got back into the cruiser and let out a sigh. He didn’t want to think about the shit Dav had told him. She claimed there really were people who did things in their sleep and had no recollection later, and that Daniel Whitlock had been a model of good behavior since his release. Of course he had been—he didn’t want to go back to fucking jail. Dav ought to know Whitlock was no saint.

  Bel recalled Whitlock’s reaction when he’d slapped the partition. The lashing out, the confusion, the fear. The change in Whitlock’s voice, in his body. Was it possible . . .?

  No. You had to be awake to drive yourself into town. To get down those stairs at Greenducks. To kiss Jake Kebbler out back by the dumpster.

  You had to be awake.

  Want to read more? You can find When All the World Sleeps here, on KU or available for purchase.

  Also By Lisa Henry

  Dauntless

  Anhaga

  Two Man Station (Emergency Services #1)

  Lights and Sirens (Emergency Services #2)

  The California Dashwoods

  Adulting 101

  Sweetwater

  He Is Worthy

  The Island

  Tribute

  One Perfect Night

  Fallout, with M. Caspian

  Dark Space (Dark Space #1)

  Darker Space (Dark Space #2)

  Starlight (Dark Space #3)

  Playing the Fool series, with J.A. Rock

  The Two Gentlemen of Altona

  The Merchant of Death

  Tempest

  With J.A. Rock

  The Preacher’s Son

  When All the World Sleeps

  Another Man’s Treasure

  Fall on Your Knees

  Mark Cooper versus America (Prescott College #1)

  Brandon Mills versus the V-Card (Prescott College #2)

  The Good Boy (The Boy #1)

  The Boy Who Belonged (The Boy #2)

  Writing as Cari Waites

  Stealing Innocents

  About the Author

  Lisa likes to tell stories, mostly with hot guys and happily ever afters.

  Lisa lives in tropical North Queensland, Australia. She doesn't know why, because she hates the heat, but she suspects she's too lazy to move. She spends half her time slaving away as a government minion, and the other half plotting her escape.

  She attended university at sixteen, not because she was a child prodigy or anything, but because of a mix-up between international school systems early in life. She studied History and English, neither of them very thoroughly.

  She shares her house with too many cats, a dog, a green tree frog that swims in the toilet, and as many possums as can break in every night. This is not how she imagined life as a grown-up.

  Lisa has been published since 2012, and was a LAMBDA finalist for her quirky, awkward coming-of-age romance Adulting 101, and a Rainbow Awards finalist for 2019’s Anhaga.