“Actually, no. Death would be too easy.” She set the mug down and crossed her arms, the movement pushing her breasts up in a way she knew would demand my attention.Dammit.I shifted the bulge in my pants. “I’m going to get you back so good, you won’t know what hit you.”
Well, shit. The prank had definitely worked. All the fear and anxiety I’d seen winding through her shoulders two nights ago had evaporated into pure, focused determination to make my life interesting.
I just had the sinking feeling I’d started something I couldn’t finish.
Something that looked suspiciously like … fun.
And the way she was looking at me right now, like she was already plotting her revenge and enjoying every second of it?
I was so screwed. And weirdly … I couldn’t wait to see what she’d come up with.
19
MEET MY BROTHER: FORMER FROG RESCUER, CURRENT CONVICTED MURDERER. CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT TOOK A DARK TURN. #FAMILYSECRETS
DAKOTA
“Thank you for taking me.” I stared out the window, watching asphalt blur beneath our tires.
“I’m heading there anyway. Next parole hearing prep.” Ryker’s knuckles went white against the steering wheel, his lean, tattooed muscles in his forearms flexing beneath his fitted black shirt. “You can talk to him first though.”
That was nice of him.
“Saw some of your posts from lunch yesterday,” Ryker said. “For what it’s worth, you guys are doing a good job of selling your story.”
Ugh. That lunch that we’d muddled through, despite learning about a possible threat the day before. Like the dinner facade, we’d looked happy. Naturally, it was before his stupid prank this morning, but still. We’d touched hands. (I pretended it did not affect me. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.) He pulled my chair out, and we laughed and smiled like a couple in love.
Puke.
It seemed to work though. Public speculation was taking off. Comments rolling into my feed that had nothing to do with products and all about this secret relationship that was being posted by others.
Operation Play Coy About It would end soon, Rebecca had warned. Then it was on to the next phase.
“It seems to be heading in the right direction,” I agreed.
Ryker turned off the main road, steering us toward the penitentiary that loomed in the distance.
“I’m glad they finally opened that new parking lot,” I said, watching the familiar route unfold. “When I used to visit Knox, I had to do street parking and got, like, three parking tickets.” I nibbled my lip, remembering the frustration. “Weirdest thing though. When I went online to pay them, they were all dismissed due to clerical error.” I glanced at Ryker. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“No,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I studied his profile. Ryker was a criminal lawyer. He probably had tabs on the days I visited. Maybe he’d made those tickets go away?
“And one time, my car even broke down right outside the prison,” I continued. “When the tow truck guy showed up, he said it was free of charge.” I waited for his reaction. “You wouldn’t know anything about that either, would you?”
Again, no eye contact. No response.
“Hmm.” I turned back to the window, then remembered something else. “Oh, and every year on my birthday, I get this gorgeous bouquet of gardenias delivered to my place. Anonymous. I always suspected it was Knox organizing it somehow since he can’t be here for the big events.” I looked at Ryker again. “Pretty sure the only person he could organize that through would be you. Do you arrange that too?”
This time, Ryker did meet my eyes, his response matter-of-fact. “No. The flowers are not from Knox. At least, not that I’m aware of.”
“Really?” That surprised me.
“Have you asked Knox about it?” Ryker questioned.
Typical nonanswer.
“He denies doing it,” I said.
