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“I believe you.” Brenda starts moving again, out of a hall bustling with people and noise, and into a room thatbeep-beep-beepswith machines that, I have a feeling, belong to Eleanor. “Whatever you do, Rory, know that everyone supports you. We’re proud of you. But no one is prouder than your mom.”
Shaking my head side-to-side, while Rory cries and pretends she’s not, I push off my stool far noisier than when I sat down. The legs scrape against expensive mob-purchased tile, and my boots echo against the floor as I stalk out of the kitchen and into the main sitting area where Malone and Fletcher talk.
They discuss food, I think. Clothes. The collection of our things from the hotel. And most importantly to them, Marcos Buchanan’s words today.
But when I pause in the doorway, they stop speaking and glance around to face me.
“She’s going to the hospital to see her mother tomorrow. You pick the time. You pick the way. I don’t give a fuck if it’s at three in the morning and we move in the dark, or it’s nine o’clock and we blend with the crowds. But we’re going there tomorrow.”
Turning on my heels again, I stride back into the kitchen and around the wall separating us, and coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, I find Rory huddled in on herself. Her phone fisted in her hand, and her arms wrapped around her knees. Tears silently track across her pink cheeks and break my heart more than I could have expected for a girl I don’t even know.
She’s a witness. A target. She’s the job, first and foremost. But she has the will of a lion. The tenacity of a fox. She has strength so few others possess, and she carries it, and so much more, all on her own.
“Come on.” I extend my hand and take hers when she doesn’t reach back. Gently tugging her up and setting her on her feet, I catch her again when her legs tremble and her knees threaten to give out.
“Just let me sit,” she murmurs pathetically. “Leave me alone.”
“You can sit on the couch.” I scoop her up and hold her weight off the ground, pleased when her arms swing around my neck and hold on for dear life. Then I turn and go in search of somewhere to put her. Somewhere with a comfortable sofa, and not just a stuffy wingback chair for kingpins to conduct business in.
I stride through the shadowed home and walk through rays of sunlight sneaking through the gaps the curtains make. And when I find a living room toward the back of the house with a flat screen TV bolted to the wall, and a massive shape hidden beneath a dusty sheet, I stop at the end of it, release Rory’s legs, but keep my arm wrapped around her torso to make sure she stays standing. Then I tug the sheet away to find a cream, L-shaped couch laden with cushions and inviting enough to draw a groan from the back of her throat.
“This is where you’re staying for the next few hours.” I pull the sheet off completely, careful not to disturb the dust and have it land all over the room. Then half-carrying Rory, I lower her down and press my hands to her shoulders to keep her there. “Stay. I’ll find the TV remote. You’ll watch something trashy while the detectives get your things from the hotel. We’ll eat. You’ll sleep. Then tomorrow, I’m taking you to your mom.”
Her eyes light up, but that only makes the tears in them glitter brighter. “Really?”
“I promise.” I tuck a thick lock of her hair back behind her ear and smile. “I’m gonna make sure it’s safe, okay?”
Rory
THE THINGS HE DOES WHEN I’M NOT WATCHING.
“Aurora?”
I dream of boring things. Studying. The campus library I know like the back of my hand. I dream of Nolan and the apartment I’ve already moved out of. But that’s how I know I’m dreaming, because Nolan is no longer a part of my world, and neither is the apartment.
I dream of school. And the textbooks I’ve memorized over the last four years. I play through my mind the classrooms I’ve sat in and the chairs my ass has gone numb in. And though it’s all quite bland and boring to me, I cling tight to the make-believe, because I know when I wake, the world will suck again.
Lorenzo Lombardo will still be dead, and Gregory Vallejo will still be looking for me. The police will still be watching every step I take, and Marcos Buchanan will still know everything there is to know about my life.
He knew who I was dating, and what classrooms I sat in. He knows that I’m studying, and when I sat the MCATS. He knows it all, which means there’s nowhere for me to hide… except in my dreams.
“Aurora?”
The softest touch of fingertips brushes over my cheek, dragging me away from my apartment. They’re like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Like the kiss of the wind. But better, because that breeze also brings the scent of wood. And cologne. And maybe a spicy soap I don’t recognize. “Can you wake up, Aurora?”
The mattress compresses, so I roll from my side and onto my back until my ribs touch something. Someone. But I cling to sleep and welcome the new scents. The new voice.
“It’s only five,” he mumbles, dangerously close to my ear. “I know it’s early, but we’ve gotta go, Little Bird.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse to rejoin the real world. “Danger?” I mutter. “Is someone here to kill me?”
Drake laughs, confirming just how close he is when the soft flutter of his breath touches my cheek. “Not on my watch.”
“Then let me sleep.” I turn away again and set my hands beneath my cheek. “We can talk after the sun comes up.”
“You wanna go see your mom, don’t you, Little Bird?”
My eyes snap open, and though I see an old closet with chests on top to hold… hats? I jerk over in bed and meet Drake’s smiling eyes. “Really?”
