“Why did you hit the reporter?”
“He was taking pictures at my brother’s funeral.” Seth’s lips curled. Fire glimmered in his eyes. “I split his lip. And you ought to know he’s upstairs right now, receiving care from the good Doctor Nate. In return for not making trouble for me, the reporter gets to talk to you, just as soon as Nate finishes stitching him up.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Nate struck that deal. Obliging, huh? I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it. You weren’t happy about talking to Shapiro, either. Pretty fucking tense in that study. You going to thank me for giving you an excuse to bolt?”
Seth drifted into the guest bedroom and emerged with my purse and coat.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“You know what.” Seth glared at the wall, struggling with his apology as Matt always did. “For earlier. For what I said. What I did…” He flexed his long fingers, and I remembered the force of his grip on my arm. Then I remembered him plowing across the cemetery to punch the reporter who dared to take pictures at Matt’s memorial, and my anger faltered.
“Apology accepted, Seth.”
“Nate and Snow will be looking for you in about … five minutes, Hannah.” He offered my coat and purse, and he gazed at me earnestly. “You want to get lost?”
*
Seth drove too fast and I didn’t care.
We made our escape by the patio door. I actually laughed as we rushed across the snowy lawn. Seth almost fell. So did I.
“What’s so funny?” he said when we were on the road.
“I feel like we’re bad children.”
“Oh, I am a bad child.” He grinned.
I hadn’t thought about where we would go, and though I was alone with Seth, I wasn’t frightened. I just wanted to get away from Nate and the reporter.
I needed to talk to Matt before I answered any more questions about Night Owl.
Besides, Matt and Nate were fundamentally good guys, and I assumed Seth was, too.
As if reading my mind, Seth said, “You’re not scared of me, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. I was rude earlier, I know. I wanted to see what kind of person you are. I thought you wrote that book, but you say you didn’t, and I believe you now.”
“Good.” I gave him a small smile. He looked ahead into the frozen night. He was part Nate, part Matt, part something of his own. The white tape on his knuckles shone in the dark.
“Where to, Miss Catalano?” Seth withdrew a flask from an inner coat pocket.
I laughed. “Wow, really?”
“Not for me. Not yet.” He offered the flask without taking his eyes off the highway.
“I have a plane to catch tomorrow. And my motel is … in the exact opposite direction, just FYI.” I took the flask and twisted off the cap. I sniffed the mouth. Vodka.
“You want me to take you back to your motel?” Seth glanced at me. His face was a mask of shadows. Yes. No. I want you to be Matt asking me that question, Matt driving me back to a roadside motel to do bad things to me.
“Whatever,” I said. I took a pull off the flask. The vodka was surprisingly smooth and pooled warm in my belly.
“You can come with me if you want. I’ll get you back to the motel later.”
I checked the time: 6:15 P.M., too early to be alone in my motel, aching for Matt.
“Okay, where are we going?”
“Surprise,” said Seth.
I tried to return the flask. He shook his head, so I took another slug. I felt like I was in college again, going wherever the hell with people I barely knew, a little buzzed, happy and trusting. I remembered my cigarettes.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“You’re endlessly surprising, Hannah. Go on. Light one for me.”