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“What can I do?”
I know she’s not agreeing, she’s simply being pragmatic. Watching her actively choose not to let her emotions take over gives me an inexplicable sensation in my chest, almost as if it’s pulling me toward her.
I’ve never felt anything like it before, and it’s unsettling.
I turn away. “Come to my room.”
An odd thrill goes through me when she immediately complies, and when she steps through the door to my room, invades my private space at my own invitation, another strange feeling washes over me.
I’m too aware of her. She’s toopresent. Too vibrant. She changes everything, as if she disturbs the very air just by breathing it.
I do my best to compartmentalize the odd sensation and excuse myself to collect a second chair from the library down the hall. When I come back, she’s seated inmychair, and I freeze.
“Logan?” she asks, swiveling it around to face me.
I mean to tell her to get the fuck out, but no words come out. And when I place the second chair down next to her and slip into it, I don’t pull away when our knees touch. When our thighs press together. When she leans into me, smelling of something smoky and intriguing, to see the digitized maps of Halston that I’ve overlaid with all the information we’ve already gathered about Chloe’s trail as I quickly click through them, explaining what I’ve inferred so far.
“Stop,” she says, an oddly breathless note in her voice as she points to the screen. “Can you switch to a satellite view?”
I do it, an unfamiliar tension thrumming in my body. Light from the monitor glints off the blue jewel in her nose, and the quick smile she throws my way feels like an electrical arc snapping between us.
“We should check there,” she says, pointing to a building on the screen. “I know she’s caught a few punk shows there with her friends.”
I drag my eyes off her face and mark the building with a pin as she rambles on about her sister’s taste in music.
“And there,” she says, pointing out another. And then another.
I zoom in on the grid-like streets surrounding the bus depot. “Let’s concentrate here, then move outward in concentric circles.”
She nods, and we spend another twenty minutes discussing her sister’s habits and picking out possible areas she may have sought refuge.
Despite my best efforts to stay focused, Riley’s subtly enticing scent and the heat of her body so close to mine are distracting… although not quite as distracting as the picture she weaves with her stories about Chloe.
My gaze drifts toward the keepsake box on my dresser, and for a split second, I let myself wonder how different it would have been to have had a little sister to look out for. Then I yank my eyes away and stop wondering, because I know from experience that I won’t be able to contain the rage, or the monster inside me, if I let my thoughts stray toward what life would have been like if Emma had lived.
Riley is staring at me.
“What?” I grunt.
She shakes her head, her lips quirking up at the corners. “Nothing.”
I narrow my eyes. “If you lie to me, we won’t find your sister.”
Riley raises a single eyebrow, not looking even a little bit intimidated, and I’m torn between admiration and reminding her that I held her life in my hands—literally—just a few weeks ago.
“Really? You’re going to go there? This isn’t about Chloe. I was just curious about your… space.”
“My space,” I repeat flatly, my pulse speeding up without my permission.
She waves a hand in the air, presumably taking in my room decor. “You know, your things.”
“What things?” I ask, a dangerous edge creeping into my voice when I realize that instead of putting a hard stop to this conversation, a part of me wants to lean in to her curiosity.
She starts to answer me, but then stops.
Instead of being grateful that she’s dropped it, I find myself pushing. “Just say it.”
Riley still hesitates, and I can’t help noticing how close we are now. Close enough that I can easily read the wariness in her eyes.
