She disappears to the desk, and I return to the shelves, thumbing through thick volumes, frustration building as eachone turns out to be a dead end. I’m scanning the spines when, from the opposite side of the shelf, a book falls with a thud, sliding halfway under the shelf toward my feet.
I crouch and pick it up:Federal Sentencing Guidelines Annotated, 2019 Edition. It’s one I saw in the online catalogue but couldn’t find anywhere on the shelves. I flip through the pages, my pulse quickening as I spot a section on conspiracy statutes, exactly what I need.
Just then, I hear the faint squeak of a wheeled book cart moving quickly down the next aisle. I glance through the gap in the shelves, expecting to see the librarian, and catch a glimpse of someone pushing the cart away at a surprising speed. There’s something about the set of her shoulders, the quickness of her step, that doesn’t match the woman I spoke to earlier.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I step around the end of the shelf, clutching the book. “Ma’am? Hey—thank you! I think you just helped me find what I was looking for.”
The woman doesn’t slow down. In fact, she picks up her pace, the cart rattling as she heads toward the far exit. I hurry after her, weaving through the narrow aisles, the library suddenly feeling too small and too bright.
“Hey, wait—excuse me! Can I ask you something?”
She glances back just once, and for a moment, her face is clear in the fluorescent light. My heart stutters in my chest. It’s not the librarian. It’s Carrie.
I stop in my tracks, the weight of the law book suddenly nothing compared to the shock in my chest.
“Carrie?” The name slips out, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. “Is that really you?”
She hesitates, her hand still gripping the edge of the cart, and for a moment it’s just the two of us in the silent stretch between shelves. She turns, shoulders drawn tight, eyes wide with shock and sheepishness.
“It’s me,” she says quietly. Her voice is different, tired and raw around the edges, but still hers.
I take a step closer, unable to keep the relief from my face. “What are you doing here? I thought—” I stop myself, realizing how much I want to reach out, how little space there is for comfort here.
Carrie’s gaze flicks to the security camera mounted high above the doorway. She keeps her voice low, barely above a whisper. “I work here now. Sort of. It’s complicated.”
I’m holding the law book tight in my hand, the words inside suddenly unimportant compared to the thousand things I want to ask her.
Carrie pauses just long enough, her hand tight on the cart, the truth written all over her face. She lets out a shaky breath and lowers her voice.
“It was the only job I could get after everything that happened. The library let me go—said my association with the club made me a liability. This place…it was all that was left.” She glances at the shelves, her jaw set like she’s still getting used to saying it out loud. “But I’m here now. I can help, if you need anything for your case.”
My pulse jumps at her offer. “You’d do that?”
She manages a small, tired smile. “Of course. I know how lost you must feel with all this. Just give me a list of what you’re looking for.”
Relief washes over me at first, seeing her here and hearing her offer to help. It’s almost enough to let my guard down, just for a second.
My mind slips to the night we were all together. The heat of her body beneath mine, her legs wrapped around my waist, the sounds she made, desperate and raw. The feel of her nails scoring my back, the way she arched and begged for more, sweat-slick skin and tangled sheets and her mouth hotand hungry against my neck. I remember the way her thighs trembled, the taste of her, the wild, heady way she let us claim every inch of her and then took control with a flash in her eyes that undid me completely.
It makes my pulse pound, painfully even, because everything that came after still lives in the space between us now.
I drag myself back, force my thoughts to clear, and look at her with a question that’s burned in me since the world crashed down. “Have you heard from Jinn? Do you know where he is?”
Carrie’s gaze flicks away, her fingers tightening on the edge of the cart. “I haven’t seen him since that night,” she says softly. “He disappeared. Everyone’s looking for him, Levi. The feds, the club…but he and Marcy are just gone.”
She won’t quite meet my eyes. Something in her tone makes the back of my neck prickle. “He didn’t try to contact you?” I press, my words coming out harder than I mean.
She hesitates, shakes her head. “No. He’s not reaching out to anyone. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.” Her voice cracks, and for a second she looks as lost as I feel.
I nod, but suspicion itches under my skin now, refusing to settle. I want to believe her. I want to trust that this is still the same woman who let me see every secret part of her that night. But too much has changed. Too many lies have already been told.
“Do you need any help with the reading? I overheard you asking Mrs. Jackson, so I thought I would…”
“Help me and then run away?” I finish for her coldly.
Her eyes widen. “No, it isn’t like that, Levi.”
“Wrecker,” I correct her.
