Jean shook her head. “Not good enough for me. Let me see it.”
“No.”
“Delaney, you’re going to let me see it.”
“Do you have a bad feeling about this thing? A doom-twinge?” Jean could usually feel when something bad was about to happen. It was her special skill.
I held up the envelope. Her expressive blue eyes ticked to the envelope. I could almost feel her trying to see what was on the paper inside.
“No,” she finally said after a full minute.
“Then you know this isn’t something that will endanger my life.”
She didn’t really know that. None of us had that power. But if it were truly dangerous, Jean would at least have a bad feeling about it.
“I have a bad feeling about it,” she said.
“Really?”
She dropped her eyes. “No. But I don’t like that you’re not telling me what’s in that letter.”
“I’ll tell you tonight,” I promised. “You’re working graveyard, right?”
She nodded, and stifled a yawn. “Should have been out of here an hour ago. Have you seen Myra?”
Just then, Myra walked through the door. Showing up exactly when she was needed was Myra’s special skill.
“Morning.” She looked a little tired, but had a bag of pastries in her hand that smelled like apples and cinnamon.
“Morning,” I said as she hung up her coat that was wet, but not dripping. Looked like we might be finally getting a break in Thor’s temper tantrum. Her shirt was untucked, and lifted a bit. Just enough to show me a little bit of skin that was bruised green.
“You’re in late. Something come up this morning? Fall in the shower?”
She shook her head, but wasn’t making eye contact. If I knew her, and I did, I’d suspect she was keeping something from me. Which meant she was.
I didn’t like the idea that whatever it was, it involved bruises.
Maybe for once it was something good? Myra deserved some happiness. She had always been the most serious of us Reed girls, but since Dad had died, that subtle joy inside of her had seemed to falter and fade.
Maybe she had a boyfriend. She hadn’t dated since Tristan left for Europe. It had been a quiet sort of love affair—which is the only kind of love affair Myra had ever had—and Myra never really spoke of him except to say that they had parted as friends.
Or it was possible I was just projecting my hopes and issues on my sister. Just because I wished I had figured out where I really stood with Ryder and had done something about it, didn’t mean all of my sisters wanted to be dating.
“You still seeing Hogan?” I asked Jean.
She gave me a look that told me just how random that question seemed.
I waited. It might have come out of the blue, but I was still curious.
“It’s complicated?” she finally said. Well, sort of asked.
“Is he bothering you?” Myra used that protective tone she’d had ever since I’d been shot. “Do I need to go talk to him?”
“Delaney got an anonymous letter on her doorstep this morning!” Jean blurted.
Total diversionary tactic, the rat.
It worked. Myra’s cool blue gaze shifted to me with laser-like focus. “Show me the letter.”
