Page 195 of Red Marked

“It isn’t him,” she groans into her hand. “What now? We’ve literally looked at every male employee who worked at Veridian Pharmaceuticals at the time of the bombing.”

I can only think of one thing to do. I also know that Star will fight me on it. I don’t want to fight with her today. I don’t think she’s up for it.

“Let’s go back to the hotel. We’re tired.” I start the car.

“We need a plan.”

I shake my head. “We need good food and some sleep. We’ll come up with a plan in the morning.”

“We need something solid, Flint. We’re shooting blanks.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I tell her.

She doesn’t answer. She turns her face further toward the glass.

Fuck.

I hate how sad she looks.

It kills me.

I put my hand on her leg and squeeze.

She puts hers over mine, so I leave it there.

56

Star

I stand under the shower for a while after I am finished washing. The hot water feels good on my skin.

I can’t believe that Veridian was a bust.

It feels like we’re missing something. I can’t think of what that is. I keep racking my brain and coming up empty.

I turn off the water, towel off, and pull on sweatpants and the biggest, softest T-shirt I own. I look at my closed laptop and think about opening it but decide against it.

What would I look for?

I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling like a failure. I know I’m being dramatic, but I can’t help how heavy I feel.

It feels like we take five steps forward and then just as many back again. I feel like we’re no further. If anything, there are more questions.

I hate this. I hate lying here feeling sorry for myself. That isn’t who I am. I managed to stay upbeat for five long-ass years, and look at me now.

There’s a knock at the door, and even though I know who it is, I don’t feel too much better.

I don’t move. I could pretend to be asleep.

Flint wouldn’t buy it, and he’d keep knocking. I know him.

“Star?” It’s muffled through the door.

Just as I thought. I sigh and get up.

I open the door. Normally, one look at him is enough to lift my mood. The male is unfairly hot. He’s standing there in jeans and a tight white T, and nothing happens.

He lifts the bags. They’re looped over both wrists, and there’s a brown paper one tucked under his arm. Then the aroma hits me. Fried chicken. Garlic. Something cheesy.