Page 64 of Knox

I drove us back toward the coast, the comfortable silence from this morning replaced by tension. I checked the side and rearview mirrors on repeat, watching for any sign of the VW bus. Sloane’s phone rang twenty minutes into the drive.

Her face went pale. “Damn. It’s my mother. I forgot to text her again.”

She answered, and I did my best not to listen.

I didn’t give a damn what Mrs. Mercer thought about me. I cared that Sloane’s parents had left her alone on an island after she’d been attacked. I cared that the FBI thought the same guy who’d taken women in Virginia and Maryland was following Sloane. I cared that he’d been bold enough to follow us a hundred miles just to send a message: I’m watching. I’m always watching.

I set one hand on Sloane’s leg. She was focused on the conversation with her mother, but all I could think about was how easy it would be for him to try to run us off the road right now. On a stretch of isolated highway between here and home. No witnesses. I pressed the accelerator, putting distance between us and Raleigh. Distance between us and him.

Sloane ended the call and stared at the phone in her shaking hands. “Why is she like that? Why are they both?”

I squeezed her thigh gently. “I’m sure your mother is—” I stalled, unsure how to proceed when nothing nice came to mind.

“She’s perpetually concerned about appearances and social standing above everything else.” Sloane’s voice cracked. “I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to meet her expectations. I went to the right schools, dated the right men, wore the right clothes. And it was never enough.”

I glanced in her direction, suspecting this was about our fake relationship again.

“You don’t have to explain this to me.”

“Yes, I do.” Sloane turned to face me. “Because you need to understand that this,” she motioned between us, “this fake relationship, is the first choice I’ve made in years that’s entirely mine. No family pressure, no social expectations. Just me deciding what I want.”

My chest tightened. “Even if what you want is fake?”

“Is it?” Sloane’s green eyes searched my face. “Is it really fake, Knox? Because it doesn’t feel fake. Not to me.”

The confession hung between us, dangerous and tempting. I wanted to tell her the truth—that nothing about this felt fake to me either. That I’d started to fall for her. Really fall, in a way that terrified me from the start.

But before I could find the words, her stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension.

Sloane laughed, the sound watery but genuine.

“Sounds like it’s time to eat.”

She covered her stomach with her hands, cheeks pink. “I had a granola bar and apple slices.”

“That was hours ago.”

Sloane rolled her eyes, then looked through her passenger-side window. “Fine. There’s a diner at the next exit. Let’s stop there.”

Chapter 21

Knox

I parked outside the rectangular, chrome-sided building and helped Sloane from the Jeep, then held the door for her to pass into the diner. I smiled at the large black-and-white checkered floor and red vinyl booths. Then at Sloane’s head as it bobbed to an oldies song playing on a jukebox.

Sloane’s shoulders relaxed as we stepped inside. She sang a few of the lyrics while we scanned the scene.

“Better?” I asked.

“I’m trying.” She managed a smile. “But this day sucks a lot so far.”

“Yeah.” We’d spent the morning with a grieving woman, and after days looking for the VW bus, it had found us. Worse, I’d never even noticed we were followed.

Now, the FBI was involved in our small-town case, and my instincts said we were dealing with something I wasn’t ready to think about. It really wasn’t a good day.

A waitress with short gray hair waved a hand in greeting. “Just the two of you?” she called from behind the long, narrow service counter.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.