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I put the key into Rockwell’s doorknob. For once, I’m grateful Travis hasn’t updated the handles to ones with punch codes because those sometimes make a beeping noise. My old-fashioned key turns the lock with perfect silence.
Once inside, I noiselessly shut the door behind me. I wince when my first step is greeted with a creak in the floor. I hold still as a statue until I’m sure Rockwell hasn’t woken. My shoulders relax after a minute or two, and I turn on my cell phone light. The room is fairly empty besides the two folding chairs his mom brought over and the cutest tiny tree decorated with strings of popcorn. I notice his computer bag under one of the chairs. I lift the flap of the bag but it’s empty beside his computer. I don’t feel good snooping in business stuff, so I’m fairly relieved.
Walking along the edge of the room, I scan his kitchen, but there isn’t so much as a fast-food wrapper in sight. I was hoping it would be here or in the family room. Do I have the guts to try his bedroom?
I stall, tapping my fingers against my leg. It would take two seconds to open his door and take a quick scan of the room. And this is his Christmas list we’re talking about. Mine rocked my world, so reading his is kind of important to me.
It’s decided. I’m going in. I tiptoe to his room and stealthily push his door open. Another creak. My stomach sinks into a deep pit, and I straighten myself into a skinny line against the post of his door. I wait to hear his voice call out or his body move. I start sweating.
Seconds pass.
Nothing.
More seconds.
Nothing.
I start to breathe again. I’m safe. Relief like sweet water on parched nerves flows over me. I slowly lift my phone and scan the room. The first pass takes three seconds. I see Rockwell’s form on his air mattress, his arm partially over his face. My heart thuds at the sight of him. Swallowing, I scan the room again.
My light catches on something white beside his bed on the floor where his phone is plugged in.
The list.
It’s the perfect size. It has to be it.
I turn off my light and drop slowly to my knees. I begin a methodical crawl into the room toward my beacon of hope. I’m almost there. Two more feet. One. I reach out to grab it. My hand closes over paper. The same time, a hand closes over my wrist.
I scream.
Chapter 22
Rockwell
Brie’sscreamsareenoughto wake the neighborhood. It’s a good thing the houses here are more spread apart than in the city, though I half expect her roommates to fly into the room ready to save her. She’s lucky my tired brain registered her tiny wrist as belonging to a woman or I might have broken it.
“What the heck are you doing?” I ask, pulling myself into a sitting position.
Brie tries to wrestle her arm away from me. I’m about to release her when I notice the flash of white in her hand. The moonlight catches on it in the right second and my brain clicks again.
My list.
Everything falls into place, and I release her arm, a laugh bubbling up in my chest. But I’m not going to let her off easy. She makes a mad dash for the door, and I move to block it. In the process, I flip on the light.
Brie pulls her hood over her head and tightens it around her face.
“Brie, I know it’s you.”
She wails and slaps her knee. “No, you weren’t supposed to wake up.”
I reach over and take her hood off, her dark hair falling long over her shoulders except for a small part sticking up on top. “Did you seriously break in here tonight to see my Christmas list? Do you think you’re Santa now?”
She sheepishly says, “I’m your neighborly elf, coming to help your wishes come true?”
I’m still holding back my chuckle, keeping my face as stern as I can. I put my hands on my hips. “Really. You’re here to help fulfill my wishes?”
She straightens. “Absolutely.”
This woman. She is going to die before she admits to her curiosity.
