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“Be careful of those stitches sweetheart,” he cautioned me, but it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms tightly around my back and holding me against his chest like he might never let me go. I hoped he wouldn’t. I lifted my face to his and he ducked his head, pressing a long, sweet kiss against my lips.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I told him, and was rewarded with another kiss, this one slightly more demanding and a little less sweet than the first.
“Call me every night,” he told me, and I squeezed him again before reluctantly letting go. Devan was right there waiting when I turned, and he pulled me tight to his chest and buried his face in my hair. His arms were strong and warm and I grasped him hard to me, breathing deeply as if I could carry his scent with me to Chicago.
When he drew back his eyes were sad but his mouth was pulled up in his wide, familiar grin.
“Why is love like peeing your pants?” he asked, and I groaned.
“Why?” I prompted him, and he dragged me close again, his lips firm and warm on mine.
“Because everyone can see it, but only you can feel the warmth,” he whispered in my ear. I wasn’t sure if the sound that came out of me was a laugh or a sob.
All too soon he was pulling away and Garrett had taken my suitcase in one hand and was waiting for me on the curb. I joined him there, my throat tight, and followed as he led me through the revolving doors and into the terminal.
I wanted to say something to him, but I didn’t know what, wanted him to tell me that there was no reason for the bad feeling in my chest, that everything would be okay, that I would see them all again before I knew it. I wanted him to promise me that I’d be safe without them, that they’d be safe without me. But I couldn’t seem to find the words before we reached the end of the long hallway and entered into the main concourse, and found my aunt pacing restlessly in front of a row of benches and potted plants.
I had no idea how she’d managed to find a flight and get here so fast, but here she was, blond hair pulled back in a tight chignon, suit immaculately tailored and pressed, not a single wrinkle to show for her last minute trip. Her heels clicked on the floor as she paced, and I groped blindly for Garrett’s hand as we approached, needing the reassuring clasp of his fingers on mine.
His hand was warm and dry and comforting in mine, and to my relief he didn’t release me when my aunt finally noticed our approach and whirled to face us, but instead pulled me in close to his side.
“Camilla, what’s all this ab—” Her words died in her throat when she took in my bruised face, my swollen eye, the pajama pants I still wore under my winter coat. Then her gaze swung to Garrett’s and her face went white.
“Max Fiorenza,” she breathed.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I spun to face him.
“Max F—” I started, but the words broke off. Garrett wasn’t looking at me. Instead his expressionless gaze was trained on my aunt.
“Naomi Moretti,” he greeted her blandly. “It’s been a long time. I’m surprised you recognize me.”
“Recognize you?” she exclaimed, and it was the first time I’d seen my aunt off balance. “You’re the spitting image of your father. I’d know you anywhere.”
At that, Garrett’s smooth facade twisted in the barest grimace. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied, and my stomach twisted.
“I’m sorry,” my aunt said. Her immaculate exterior didn’t quite cover up the fact that she was flustered, her eyes slightly too wide, her cheeks flushed.
I reminded myself that this was the woman who had allegedly killed Drew’s brother. I tried to imagine my aunt with a gun in her hand, or a knife, willfully killing another person. To my surprise, it wasn’t impossible to imagine. But then, I’d only known her for the space of a summer. Who knew what she might be capable of?
It occurred to me that I was actually standing here surrounded by people who had taken other people’s lives. Members of international crime organizations. The thought was so absurd, I almost started to laugh, and I bit down on my tongue to keep it inside.
My aunt seemed to wrestle herself under control, her gaze sharpening as she glanced between the two of us. “So what the hell is going on? When I got your call, I thought it was the school.” She frowned. “Are Wesley and Finn with you?”
I started, realizing with a shock she must be referring to Devan and Micah, but she kept talking, hurling questions at Garrett. “What are you even doing at Lost Lake? That has to be the last place I would have expected to find you; it can’t be safe there for you. Why—” she cut off abruptly as she seemed to realize I was still holding Garrett’s hand, and her expression turned unreadable.
I gripped tighter, afraid that he was about to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he squeezed back, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline, then simply handed my suitcase across to her and said, “Our reasons are our own.”
I glanced sidelong at him, wondering what those reasons might be. My aunt was right—after what I’d learned about their history in the car, Lost Lake didn’t seem like the best place for them to be hiding out. But this was clearly not the time to ask.
“Camilla has two stab wounds in her side and one in her forearm,” Garrett told my aunt as she took my bag from him. “They’ve been cleaned and stitched, but make sure she takes it easy. The stitches will dissolve over time.”
My aunt’s mouth opened, then closed again as Garrett continued on. “Keep her close; she’s not safe. She’s already been attacked once now by someone looking for me, when she was in California over Thanksgiving break. And now that the three of us are out of hiding, I don’t imagine the danger will decrease.”
I didn’t entirely appreciate the way he spoke about me as if I wasn’t there, but the shocked look on my aunt’s face might have been worth it. She recovered herself quickly though, her expression turning dark. “Thank you, Max, but I am well aware of the danger. She will be safe in my hands.”
“That’s good,” Garrett said mildly. “Because if anything happens to her, you’ll have to answer to the three of us.” He gave her a feral look, baring his teeth in what couldn’t even remotely be called a smile. “And we’re not seven years old anymore.”
Then he turned his attention to me, dropped my hand, and in one swift move he pulled me to his chest before cupping his hands around my face and pressing his lips against mine in a possessive kiss that stole the breath from my lungs.
