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He squints and purses his lips as he examines me. “Still don’t believe you.”
“Why not?”
“I saw the way you were searching for her. I recognize that look.”
“You’re delusional.” I rub at my forehead. “There was no look.”
“There was a look.”
I glance at Laney, holding my hand out toward my cousin. “Why am I arguing with him?”
“Uhm,” she splutters, shaking her head.
“I’m not sure,” Ezra answers for her. “We both know I’m right.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter over my shoulder as I walk away.
The sound of his delighted fucking chuckle follows me through the bistro. After a lifetime of dealing with Ezra, Quin, and my sister Camille, I’m an expert at ignoring their bullshit. The only one I struggle to dismiss is Revel, but that’s because she’s the baby of our family.
I find a table in the corner near the front windows and watch the people of Crimson Bay hustle about their daily tasks. The gardenia bushes are livening up, ready for spring to descend so they can grace us with their blooms. I can almost smell the tangy floral scent that blankets the city for months on end.
Skyscrapers loom over us, making the charming bistro feel smaller than it truly is, squished and disproportionate between the massive metal structures. But the monochrome colors with splashes of red make Crimson Bay my favorite place to be.
I’ve never wanted to travel far when everything I love is right here, in the heart of this bustling city. The high crime rate keeps most of the tourists away, though summer always brings a few misguided beach-goers and surfers who will risk life and limb for the perfect wave.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I pick it up to see a text from Jasper. My stomach sinks to the floor at the notification.
Gunner: Got the laptop. David knows who I am.
I reply before I really register the full message.
Me: How? You didn’t tell him...
Gunner: I don’t know. Find me.
A location pops up in our messages, and I study the map before clicking directions. She’s twenty-five minutes away with traffic, but it feels like there’s a world between us.
Ezra sets his sandwich on the table, then glares around the bistro as he asks, “What happened? Why do you look sick?”
“We need to go.” I jump from my seat. “Now.”
“Where are we going?” he asks, though he follows me through the door, to his car where we left it parked at the curb.
“You eat. I’ll drive.”
He nods, climbing into the passenger seat of his Tesla with no hesitation, always on board and ready to get his hands dirty.
“What’s got you frazzled?”
“I can’t say exactly,” I answer as I pull onto the main street. “I just know I’m about to be needed, and we’re too far away to be helpful.”
Ezra takes a bite of his sandwich before inquiring, “Why do we need to be helpful?”
I slap the steering wheel. “Gemma—”
“You do know her!” he shouts.
“Shut up and eat your sandwich,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “Gemma is in a... pickle.”
