“Yeah?” He exhales down the receiver, perhaps a little heavier than either of us is comfortable with.
“How long have you been there?” I ask in a quiet voice.
He swallows. “Oh, a while. I…I sit here to read and stuff.”
This from the boy who clammed up in Miss Summer’s English class when asked what he’d been reading over Christmas. Uh…the sports pages? he managed. I was distinctly unimpressed by that. Perhaps he remembers.
I put the phone down. Yank the drapes shut on Dean’s still-handsome-but-surprised face. Being hot doesn’t mean you can’t be an asshole; it’s a steep learning curve, but I’m getting there.
“Screw you,” I spit into the shadows, though he can’t hear me. “I don’t like being watched.”
But I will be watched. I’ll be watched for the rest of my life. One way or another, I bet Aeron Lore’s people will keep tabs on us, making sure we’re still conveniently silent on all matters pertaining to the murder of Emily Lore.
Do they know I know? Or do they think it’s just Mum…?
I glance about in the dark, my veins thick with the acidic sting of panic. My gaze falls on another video camera I’ve been playing with, its lens catching a sliver of light in white echoes.
If Aeron Lore’s company is going to watch me…maybe I should watch them.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leo
Forgiveness (noun): popular form of denial for those who lack the stamina true hatred requires
There’s something oddly comforting about the sound of Aeron’s key in my front door.
It shouldn’t be that way, of course. It’s still the key that he stole all those months ago, not a lover’s invitation as it ought to have been. If we were the soppy kind, perhaps we’d have exchanged new keys, key rings with inspirational quotes from favorite books or movies, jeweler…something other than bodily fluids. I have a key to his place but I’m only allowed to use it when Ash isn’t there.
No, the only things Aeron has ever given me—besides the usual pretty clothes and shoes and upside down roses (don’t ask)—are etched into my flesh. Winding patterns, knitted back together in a mockery of the human mind’s ability to heal. And the only thing I’ve willingly given him is a bullet.
His birthday’s coming up. Ha.
Aeron’s footsteps into my living area are preceded by the sour, sugary aroma of Chinese food. He places two brown bags on the kitchen island and then walks toward me, shrugging off his overcoat in the process. Shadows catch across the angles of his stern face, a half mask of dark shapes clutching at one eye.
“Come on,” he says firmly. “Eat.”
I huddle further into the sofa, staring at the candle on my coffee table and inhaling the scent of melted wax. “I asked for this, huh.”
He drops to his knees beside me and digs firm fingers into my thigh. Gets his face in mine. “I’m not going to lecture you. Just let me do something nice for once and fucking eat the fucking chow mein.”
I glance at his hand, raising an eyebrow at the way he’s squeezing hard enough to bruise.
“Nice for me,” he mutters, drawing the hand away.
“Did you call Posner?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He rolls his eyes. “What do you think?”
“FBI.” I place my palm against his cool, stubbled cheek. I like the way he responds to the smallest of touches, his pupils flaring and shoulders pulling tense. “So what now?”
“Now we eat. Forget about it. Leo, you run a goddamn surveillance company—nothing can touch you.”
“You touch me,” I murmur, my thumb slipping to rest against his bottom lip.
In one fluid movement, he shoves my hand away and leaps back up, jarring my entire frame of vision.
“Can we just clear this up once and for all? I’m not a serial killer, in case you haven’t noticed. Any time this guy is supposed to be out slicing and dicing, I’m not just with you, I’m usually inside you—”