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“I’m not quite sure that’s true.”
She swung her head around to glare at him. “Look, you can’t come swooping in here with a MasterCard and pretend to know everything I need.”
He sighed, loudly. The exasperation was clear. “All right, Becca.”
She pressed her forehead against the window. “All right, Dad.”
Irritation thickened the air in the cab of his truck, heavier than the silence had been. He flung the truck in park roughly when he pulled into her driveway and saw the pentagram on the door. “What the hell is with this kid?” he demanded.
For an instant, she entertained telling him.
So, Dad, about the accident. Really, there’s a guy who wants to kill me.
“Who knows.” Her voice sounded tired.
“I’ll have to come back to paint tomorrow,” he said. “It’s too wet now.”
He trailed her onto the porch, and she shoved her mom’s key into the lock. “Leave it. They’ll just put it back up.”
His attention shifted, focusing on her. She felt the change in his demeanor. “Becca.” He caught her wrist, keeping her from opening the door. “Do you know who’s doing this?”
She wriggled her hand free. “No—god, Dad, I’m tired.”
He let her go, then stood in the foyer and watched her flick lights on. The house stood empty—no Quinn. Becca felt a flash of guilt for their fight outside the school, but then caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. She looked like—well, like she’d been in a car accident and a flood. Her hair straggled over her shoulders, and her clothes were ruined. Her makeup formed dark circles around her eyes, making her look almost macabre.
Quinn was on her own tonight.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said.
He glanced around, like a wannabe police officer checking the place for criminals. “I can make a pot of coffee and stay for a while.”
“Or you could remember that I’m almost seventeen years old, and I stay by myself almost every night.”
He stared down at her. She stared back.
“I’m fine,” she said.
His eyes narrowed a bit—but not in anger. More like assessment. “What’s going on with you, Becca?”
“My car was just totaled. Sorry I’m not at my best.”
He kept studying her. She kept looking back at him.
Just when she thought this was going to end up being some immature staring match, he said, “You need a ride to school in the morning?”
She shook her head. “I’ll ride with Quinn.”
Thank god he didn’t know that Quinn had no car.
He nodded. “All right.” He started to take a step toward the living room. “Maybe I should stay for a—”
“Just go,” she said. “I have your phone number. I’ll be fine.”
“All right, Becca. All right.” He turned for the door.
Then he paused. “Here, I want you to take this.”
He was holding out a credit card.
