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“He didn’t know, but Pace told Manning some bullshit, and the two of them tried to get me to... yield to my father’s wishes. On something important. Something that’s not their business, either one of them.” I inhale; exhale. Robert is dead to me. I want to tell Cleo why. How I blame him for Lyon’s death. But one look at her sympathetic face and I know this day should be all about her. Even mentioning this right now... it’s selfish.
“I’m so sorry that happened,” she says.
I nod. “I know you are.” I let a breath out, releasing that subject, and look back up at her. “I appreciate it, Cleo. Now let’s get some food and water packed.”
“Um... what?”
“I’m driving you. Don’t protest. I know it’s hard to do this shit alone, and I want to go. Anyway, you don’t have a car here.”
“Oh, I guess I don’t.”
I start opening cabinets. “What do you want?”
I open the liquor cabinet, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, is that Snow Queen vodka?”
I can’t resist a smile. “It’s my favorite. Have you had it?”
“I love it. This is really weird... but can we take some with us?”
I give her a gentle smirk. “Only if you tell me why.”
She smiles a little, and I can’t tell if it’s sad. “My friend came up with some instructions for me once, for visiting the cemetery. Among many other good suggestions, he recommended having some Snow Queen with me.”
“You should,” I say, trying to ignore the sharp twist in my gut. “Your friend sounds like a smart dude.”
She frowns. “How did you know it’s a dude?”
“You said ‘he.’”
“Oh.” She nods. “Yeah. I haven’t heard from him in a while. I’m actually really worried about him.”
All the air in my lungs dissipates, and I feel the color drain from my face. I draw a deep breath, taking care to look away from her. “What makes you worried?” I ask as I get the Snow Queen down and set it on the counter.
“He’s got a weird situation. Kind of... risky.” I wait for her to tell me what she means by that, but Cleo just runs her palm over her upswept hair. “I found out he has a P.O. box in a city like an hour from here, which is totally crazy. It’s just across the Alabama line, in this little town called Eufaula. I was thinking of stopping by on my way back up to Chattahoochee, to see if anyone around has seen him.” She rolls her eyes. “I have stalker tendencies—I know.”
I smile a little at how ruffled she seems, even as I feel a yawning ache behind my sternum.
“We can do that. We can do anything you want,” I lie. I keep my business P.O. box across state lines for security reasons, and there is no way we’re going by there.
I stretch my arm out and rub my palm over the coil of her bun. Cleo stands perfectly still, her eyes level with my throat as I just... touch her. My hand lingers there, barely brushing the soft nest of her hair. Because I need to touch her. Because now that I know who she is, I feel a fucking tug toward her, as if a rope is tied around me and she’s got the business end. Like a bull with a rope around its horns, I think wryly, imagining Robert’s ranch in Texas.
Cleo’s hand touches my throat. “What’s this?”
My muscles tighten. “What?” I trail my hand down by her ear, hoping to distract her—but she leans closer.
“You’ve got this little scar... right here.” Her finger rubs gently over the base of my neck, just atop the thick throb of my jugular. “It looks exactly like a little white Sharpie line.” She strokes me there again, and I suck in a deep breath.
“Oops, I’m sorry. Does that bother you?”
I shake my head. I guess I held my breath while she was touching me. I press my lips together for what I hope looks like a normal smirk. “You want to hear that story?”
She nods, eager.
I stroke her ivory white throat. “In the car,” I lie again.
Cleo shakes her head and pulls her lips down. “It’s not a car.”
Goddamn, her mouth like that. It’s fucking sexy, that little smirk. There’s something feline about it—like a smug housecat pondering a bowl of milk. I want to kiss it off her lips.
