“Come see mine,” he says, louder this time, nudging me with his shoulder to follow.
I turn to Jeremiah before I go, the oldest kid in the group, empowering him with the responsibility of getting everyone set up for lunch in the courtyard. The kids skitter out through the door in a sea of noise and delight.
The nerves jitter in the pit of my stomach and the tips of my toes as I turn back to Colin and follow the few feet to his canvas. He brings his hand to my shoulder as I stand in front of him and take in his painting, the skin of his fingers tracing a path of warmth against my collarbone.
I have to admit, Colin is much better at abstract art than he is at realism. His painting is an explosion of colors, with outlines of darkness tracing every bright shade on the canvas. The sky blue is lined with a deep navy, the pastel lilac that reminds me of Easter is shaded with a dark, royal purple. The colors wave and swirl across the surface in a blurry, sunset like pattern from top to bottom.
Colin reaches around me and slides a finger across the uppermost edge of the canvas, the black paint like a night sky dotted with stars. “It’s the cold of dawn,” he says. My body shivers in response like I can feel the exact chill of the morning he’s speaking of. Before the sun rises. Before the birds wake up and before the last stars are gone. “Vast. Unknown.”
His trail continues down the canvas, through the varying colors of bright and dark. “It’s a comfortable day,” he whispers almost absently, his finger hitching on the yellow and gold bands of color. “The absolute perfect weather,” he says behind me, his voice brightening, and I can’t help but smile at the feel of what he describes. “The type of weather that makes you feel free. Like you could do anything and succeed. Like the world belongs to you.”
My heart tugs at the sound of his words, at how lost in his art he became. His hand continues moving toward the bottom of the canvas, to the orange and red that fades into swirls of black and blue again. He moves his lips to the edge of my ear. “It’s the ocean,” he whispers. My stomach tightens, and I could almost let my eyes fall completely closed and let him lull me into a guided meditation over the sea. “Full of life. Full of mystery. Both deep and shallow. Cold and warm.”
My eyes prickle with emotion, the flood of feelings continuing toward the organ in my chest and dropping between my thighs.
Colin is letting me into his mind. Into his thoughts and soul. Something he’s refused to do until now. We’ve teetered the line; I’ve tried to force my way over and he’s forcibly pushed me back to my side. He didn’t wantto see that we belong onthe same side.But here it is, the line between us dissipating in front of my eyes.
He moves his hand slowly, curling around the side of my neck in a hungry and possessive movement until his fingers are pressed under my chin and lifting it into the air.
“What season is it?” I whisper.
The silence seems to stretch and expand between us as he lowers his lips to my face again, his mouth caressing the skin of my heated cheek when he says, “It’s you.”
25
Chloe
Barry—that pest of a reporter—lingers at the edge of my property line, snapping pictures and calling out to me and Colin as we stand at the top of my driveway.
“Chloe! Can I get a quote on your mother’s appeal? Do you think she’ll be released?”Snap. Flash.
“Colin, are you dating theBaby Widow?”Click. Flash.
Colin winces when the name hits his ears, meeting me with a look that screams regret. I picture it now, tomorrow’s headline as Colin interlaces his fingers with mine:Baby Widow Makes a Baby with Murder’s Most Eligible Bachelor.
My gaze falls to our hands, and I let out a chuckle. “What?” Colin asks, ducking his head to find my gaze.
Shaking my head, I lift it to meet his eyes again. “Nothing. Was just thinking about tomorrow’s headline.”
“Murder’s Most Eligible Bachelor proposesto Baby Widow?”
“I was thinkingMakes a Baby.” I laugh when Colin’s eyes widen. “Anyway,” I clear my throat nervously, “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”
He releases my hand, picking up the canvases from the ground where they lean against my front door. “Don’t leave the house.”
I take the paintings from his hand, hoping to distract him with movement and feigned innocence. “I have plans with Maeve and Stella,” I lie. I wonder what he’d say if I said I had lives to save. Lives to take.
I’ve done this a thousand times, I remind myself. Hunted, lied, covered my tracks. But this feels different. I’ve never had to lie to someone who truly cares about me. Maeve, Stella, I’ve never had to lie to them. They’ve seen all of me. The mud, and blood, and anger, and pain. But this lie, each letter out of my mouth is a sharp stab to my chest.
Keeping my eyes glued to our paintings, I tilt my head, forcing my muscles to relax and the smile to stay pasted on my face. Of course, it’s there because I’m truly looking forward to taking Vera out and protecting Colin’s mother, though hopefully Colin thinks the smile is a result of the masterpieces we created.
Light and dark. Both of us. Just like I’ve always said.
Plus, Colin’s a cop. Adetective. Trained and very good at his job—which includes being able to sense when someone is lying.
“Where?” he asks, his tone sharp.
“Sunset Peak,” I say lightly, peeling my eyes from the art. No use lying about where I’ll be, since all of us are being surveilled—which is an annoyance I’ll have to figure out later. “Stella has an appointment out there, so we’re making a whole night of it. Dinner, drinks. We’ll be back tomorrow.” My lips pull tight, and the smile on my face starts to feel plastic and forced.
