* * *
I wakefrom a nightmare where a faceless man holds my head under rose-scented water.
I hear creaking steps, and I’m paralyzed with fear. Someone’s right outside my door. My heart slams against my ribs, and my mind races. Casanova’s gotten into the dorm again. If I scream, will he go?
All of the sudden, I realize I’m not in the residence hall. The creaks are coming from the old wooden stairs in Shane’s house.
My pounding heart slows. I’m not in danger. Shane’s here. In fact, it’s probably him on the stairs.
I roll onto my side and read the clock. Three in the morning.
Waiting silently, I listen as the stairs continue to quietly creak. I’m confused because it sounds like he’s going up and down over and over. Is he exercising? Did he wake from an unshakeable nightmare, too?Of course not, I think an instant later. What could possibly be scary enough to scare him?
I climb from my bed and open the door a crack.
There’s definitely a light on down the hall. Pushing the door open a sliver more, I look out. That’s when I see Erik Sorensen carrying crates up the stairs and into the usually locked room.
The men speak in low voices, and then Erik goes back downstairs. A moment later the light flicks off and, after my eyes adjust, I see the outline of Shane’s body. He locks the door to the middle room and goes down the stairs, too.
I glance at the clock again. Seven minutes after three.
At fourteen after, I hear the front door close. Moments later, there are footsteps on the steps. Ones that eventually reach the second floor and head down the hall to Shane’s bedroom. I close the door silently, staring at it for a moment.
As I climb back in bed, I know one thing for certain. Nothing legal is delivered at three in the morning.
9
AVERY
Shane’s car is a perfectly maintained fifteen-year-old silver Porsche Carrera GT. It’s a two-seater roadster that’s so beautiful I want to give it a kiss. I don’t care about cars, but no one alive wouldn’t admire this one. The motor purrs like a cat, and the stick-shift is topped with a golden-brown piece of wood varnished to a high gloss.
“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” Shane asks as he pulls out of the driveway.
I shrug, glancing at his hand on the gearshift. He has great hands.
“Do you have a dress and some heels on campus? Or just at my dad’s?”
“Yeah, I have a couple dresses. Why?”
“After class, I’ll take you to the dorm to change, and you’ll come with me to dinner in Back Bay.”
“What’s in Back Bay?”
“My grandfather’s house.”
“Since when? Ethan’s dad lives in Connecticut.”
“Yeah. It’s my other grandfather.”
I cock my head, confused. “I thought your mom’s dad passed away?”
“I guess that makes the old man a zombie. Imagine that.”
What in the world? Why did I think his maternal grandfather had passed? My mind scours its memories. I can almost swear—yes, I’m sure my mom told me that. She obviously believes that to be the case, which means maybe Ethan gave her that impression for some reason.
My eyes are glued to Shane’s handsome profile. He’s not quite clean shaven, but his stubble is much shorter and neater than it was yesterday. And he’s wearing a white button-down shirt with his jeans. Apparently, he’s dressed for dinner, too.
“Are you saying Ethan lied?”
