Cherreads

Chapter 2 - Coffee & Alibis

The morning after the alley felt heavier than the city fog curling along the streets. Emily Hayes pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as she approached the quaint storefront of Cole's Bean & Bake, the bell above the door chiming softly when she stepped inside.

The café smelled like safety warm bread, caramelised sugar, and coffee so rich it seemed to breathe life back into her tired lungs. Every table was occupied, soft chatter rolling beneath the hum of jazz spilling from the speakers. It was the opposite of the alley from last night, opposite of the blood soaked memory seared into her mind.

She needed this. Needed something normal. Needed, if she admitted it, him.

Behind the counter, Ethan Cole was a study in ease and control. Tall, broad shouldered, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms as he frothed milk, his dark hair catching the glow of the morning sun streaming through the windows. When his eyes lifted and met hers, they softened with recognition, his mouth tilting into that calm smile, the kind that disarmed people before they even realised they were guarded.

"Late night?" His voice was low, smooth, like the coffee he poured.

"You could say that," Emily said, sliding onto a stool at the corner of the counter. She tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear, careful not to let her hands shake. "Black coffee. The strongest you've got."

Ethan moved with deliberate calm, pouring the dark liquid into a mug himself rather than passing it to the barista. "You're not just here for caffeine," he murmured, keeping his eyes on the swirl of liquid as he stirred. "Are you?"

Emily frowned faintly. "What makes you say that?"

He finally looked up, eyes dark but unreadable. "Call it a hunch. People who saw what you saw last night don't just stroll into coffee shops unless they're chasing something."

Her pulse skipped. "Maybe I just like your coffee."

"Maybe," he said, setting the cup before her. His hand lingered near hers on the counter for a beat too long. "Or maybe you like trouble."

Emily exhaled a laugh that was more nerves than humor. "Are you warning me, Mr. Cole?"

He tilted his head, his smile not quite reaching his eyes this time. "The Crimson Ghost… has a thing for people who ask too many questions." The words were soft, almost casual, but they slid beneath her skin like ice.

She studied him. "How do you know that?"

"Everyone knows that," he replied smoothly, breaking eye contact to grab a fresh tray of pastries. "People who poke too hard… tend not to last long. That's all."

Before she could respond, the café door swung open with a brisk chime, and Detective Shaw stepped in. Tall, sharp eyed, his navy coat trailing behind him like a shadow. His gaze swept the room before landing on her, his brow tightening when he saw Ethan leaning close.

"Hayes," Shaw said, his tone a low reprimand as he approached. "Didn't think I'd find you here."

"Morning to you too," Emily muttered, straightening. "Coffee isn't illegal, is it?"

"Depends where you drink it," Shaw said, giving Ethan a look that could slice. "Cole."

"Detective." Ethan's tone was polite, measured, but it carried an edge. His posture didn't shift, but the air between the two men was suddenly taut, like invisible wires strung tight.

Emily rolled her eyes, though her pulse jumped at the quiet hostility simmering beneath their civil words. "Can we skip the territorial routine? What do you want, Shaw?"

"I need a word," Shaw said, motioning to the door. "Outside."

"She's drinking her coffee," Ethan interjected smoothly, still working with that effortless calm. "It'll get cold."

Shaw's jaw flexed. "It's important."

Emily sighed, grabbing her cup and standing. "Fine. I'm taking this with me."

...

Outside, the winter air nipped at her cheeks as Shaw led her a few steps down the sidewalk. His voice lowered, just enough to keep their conversation private.

"I know what you're doing," he said. "And I'm telling you, back off."

She raised a brow. "Since when do you care? Last time we spoke, you told me I was wasting my time."

"That was before the Ghost started circling," Shaw replied, his jaw tightening. "You keep poking like this, you're going to end up as another crime scene photo."

Emily's grip on the coffee tightened. "So what? I just sit back while people keep dying? That's not happening."

"I'm saying," Shaw's voice softened but sharpened all at once, "don't trust everyone who offers you a warm smile and a cup of coffee. Not everyone in this city is as harmless as they look."

Emily's gaze flicked through the café window where Ethan now stood behind the counter, laughing softly with another customer. He looked every bit the charming café owner, sleeves rolled, hair perfectly tousled. But then, as if sensing her stare, his eyes lifted and met hers through the glass.

For a split second, something flickered there something unreadable, almost too calm. His lips curved into the faintest smile. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Shaw followed her gaze. "I mean it, Hayes. Watch yourself."

That night, Emily sat cross legged on her bed, her laptop glowing in the dark as she scrolled through case files. Her phone buzzed against the comforter no alerts yet from any news outlets, no police chatter about fresh victims. The petal she'd taken from last night's alley rested in a small evidence bag beside her laptop, a crimson slash against clear plastic.

Her mind drifted to Ethan's words. The Ghost likes people who ask too many questions.

Was it a warning? A threat? Or a breadcrumb, the kind killers leave for their favorite prey?

The phone buzzed again. A new message.

Unknown number.

Her breath stalled. She hesitated, thumb hovering, then tapped the screen.

A photo filled the display. A lifeless body sprawled across cracked pavement, face turned away, a faint streak of blood near its outstretched hand.

The timestamp was from tonight barely an hour ago. No alerts yet. No sirens when she'd come home.

Beneath the image, a single line appeared:

Curiosity kills.

Emily's stomach dropped as her reflection flickered on the darkened laptop screen, her pulse hammering in her ears.

This wasn't a news leak. This was a message.

And it wasn't sent to the police.

It was sent to her.

More Chapters