I find her backpack hanging by the front door and smile at the patches ironed on to the navy canvas. All rainbows and hearts and books. Hope would have liked her.
I flick through the lilac notebook I find inside, filled with yet more stickers and Polaroids. A journal. I have a feeling I’m not supposed to read those. Something about privacy. I put the journal back.
Her keys and purse are in the outside pocket of the bag. I hook the keys, with their lilac pompom keychain, over my finger and take out her driver’s license.
Hazel Olive Halloway. So fucking pretty. I read it over a couple of times, memorizing the details before slipping it back inside her purse. I’m not done with the keys though.
I whistle a quiet tune as I duck into the kitchen, opening drawers until I find what I’m looking for. I hold the spare keys up, sorting through them until I find the ones that match the keychain. I palm the spare keys, then put everything else back where I found it and return to Hazel.
She’s still sleeping, the slightly wavy, light brown hair that falls just past her jaw fanned across her cheek.
I slide my arms under her tiny body and she murmurs, her brow pinching. “Shh, Little Lilac,” I whisper as I lift her up. “Go back to sleep.” My voice smooths out the furrows on the bridge of her nose and the rush that hits me is intoxicating.
Flynn’s in love.Hope singsongs in my head.
I carry Hazel back to her bedroom and lie her down on the double bed. It’s not made so it’s easy to pull the covers up over the blanket she’s wrapped in. Unable to resist touching her again, I trail the back of my fingers across her cheek before tucking a loose strand of silken hair behind her ear.
I want to stay, to watch her all night like the freak in the vampire novels Hope loved, but in a few hours the manhunt for me will have escalated. If I’m going to make it back to my brother’s, I need to move now.
After closingand lockingHazel’s window, I make my way back to the front door. The alarm panel on the wall is turned off, because of course it is, and I want to drag her over my knee when I see a piece of paper with the code on it tucked behind the panel.
I add the scrap of paper to my magpie collection before slipping out of the front door and into the early morning dark.
The Seattle lights are too bright for any stars to shine but the streetlamps glow golden on the sidewalk as I stroll down thestreet. I should be looking out for patrol cars but all I can think about is Hazel.
Only you Flynn, would crush on a girl so sweet and fluffy she’s more likely to runfromyou thantoyou.That’s what Hope would say, except Hazel didn’t run from me. She made me hot chocolate. Granted the hot chocolate was so bad it could well have been her attempt at killing me but still. My Lilac is braver than she looks.
I breathe in the cold, enjoying the damp air on my skin. After three months of stale rooms and white corridors the freedom feels good.
A light drizzle opens up the sky and by the time I get to my brother’s house my hair is damp, the prison top sticking to my chest.
A police car is parked out front of the three-story, architectural digest building my brother designed himself.
I duck into the shadows of the neighboring house and go around to the back yard, whistling under my breath as I climb the spiral stairs to the roof terrace and step over the gap onto my brother’s house. I hop the privacy wall to his roof-top breakfast area and then slide open the balcony doors to his bedroom and walk down the floating staircase to the ground floor.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call as I stroll into the open plan kitchen and living area.
Lachlan’s sitting at the marble topped island, a glass of whiskey on the surface. His gaze flicks up before returning to his iPad. “You’re late. I was starting to think you’d gotten yourself caught again.”
I shake out my hair, sending droplets flying onto his limestone stone floor, and hold up a finger. “First of all, I wasn’t caught the first time, I turned myself in. Second of all, you try walking the streets with the whole precinct after you.” I strip off the damp top and replace it with the black T-shirt Lachlan leftfolded on the back of the eight-seater couch. “Besides, I found someone prettier than you to keep me company.”
I walk over to my brother, and he slides a brown envelope across the island. “Passport, new identity. A house in the Caymans in your name.”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip. “Yeah, about that. I can’t go yet. We missed someone.”
That gets Lachlan’s attention. He puts the iPad down on the island, blue eyes brighter than mine piercing into me. “We tracked down everyone in that video.”
“Sleet talked. Apparently, there was someone behind the camera.” My lip curls in disgust, the blubbering begging face of Garret Sleet, my fellow inmate, still fresh in my mind. The coward gave up the leader of their sick society in hopes of saving his own life. It was never going to work. Every single person in that video wrote their death sentence the second they entered that room.
“You have a name?” Lachlan asks.
“I do.” I lean against the island next to his stool and cross my arms. “You’re not going to like it.”
Lachlan’s jaw ticks. He runs a hand through his hair, the same coal black as mine except his only has the slightest wave to it. “Every single person in that room dies, Flynn. That’s what we promised her.”
I dip my chin. “I know.” People used to think my brother and I were cut from the same cloth, but unlike me, Lachlan doesn’t have any trouble connecting to his emotions. He just doesn’t like to show them, shutting all those pesky feelings down under a cold mask.
I watch him with fascination as he fights to keep them contained, his arm resting on top of the island, the tendons flexing as he curls his hand into a fist. “Who was filming?”
