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“I’m not sure. We’ve still got a lot to figure out.” He leans closer, touching the trackpad to scroll through the questions and answers. He smells of fresh soap, a masculine brand. And something else too…a light scent, like just-out-of-the-dryer laundry. His jaw flexes and his eyes narrow. I can practically hear him wondering how long I’ll be in his space, messing up his routine.
“I can look for another place to stay tomorrow. I have?—”
“You’ll stay here.”
“I don’t want to impose?—”
“Didn’t you say that Sam told you to come here?”
Is this what he meant, though? Was my brother actually envisioning me arriving empty-handed on his friend’s stoop?
“You’re going to stay with me.” The matter-of-fact statement leaves no room for argument.
“There’s no way they have any idea where I am.” My phone remains off. Sam’s packed duffel included ten thousand in cash. The trip cross-country took about a thousand in food and gas, but I still have plenty.
“You’re staying with me.” He points at the screen and the latest Slack.
Kairi
We’re good for tonight. Regroup tomorrow.
“Kairi’s team is global. Someone on the team will keep digging through the night.”
“So, we could have answers in the morning.” Steps closer to finding Sloane. Figuring out what is going on.
“Possibly.”
“Should we go to the cops?” Why didn’t Sam tell me to go to the cops if I was in trouble? Why didn’t I think to ask him more about his instructions? Because you thought he was paranoid and should possibly be kicked out of the military.
“No. Not yet. The scenario that they burned your house down to flush you out is still too likely. And local cops can’t help locate your sister in another country. We’ll have a team meeting tomorrow to discuss strategy. We might bring in the FBI. Or maybe someone from Interpol.”
He crosses his arms and his lips curve together. His eyes glaze over in a faraway expression, like he’s processing information. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen that thoughtful expression.
He blinks, and his face transforms back to the present. With a loud exhale, he says, “I’m guessing you’d love a shower.”
A shower and a Xanax. “I’m really so sorry. The last thing I wanted?—”
“Stop. You’re Sam’s sister. And an old friend. Follow me. I’ll set out clean towels for you and give you some time.”
Guilt nags at me. I’m forcing him to host me. Of course, what did I expect? I showed up on his doorstep.
* * *
When I exit his bedroom after a much-needed shower, I find him at his breakfast bar, reading on his laptop. I stop, frozen, taking in the tortoise rimmed glasses.
Knox has always been a gorgeous specimen, but with the added splash of humanity, he slips into breathtaking. The hot professor on campus. Or the muscular computer nerd. Put some cowboy boots on him, and he could star as the urban cowboy. He could be the cover model for so many romance novels. That is one thing Sloane and I had in common. We both love reading romance novels. For her, it’s a guilty pleasure. One she’s reluctant to admit to. But I’ve seen her Kindle.
“Feel better?” His lips spread into a slow grin.
“Yeah.” My belly twists.
He closes the laptop and pushes off the stool. “Can I get you some tea?”
“You drink tea?”
“Decaffeinated. Helps me sleep. Want some?”
“Sure.”
