Max whines at the sliding door, and I ditch the other sheet in my hand in favor of letting him in. He bolts in, and I rub his back the way he likes it, aggressive and rough. Truly a Malinois.
I have a few more items on my agenda while at the house, though. Clean out the old china in the upper cabinets, finish covering the furniture we don’t use while here, and if I have time, perhaps make it back into the garage to start that massive undertaking.
Before I head to the kitchen, I pull out my phone, checking my messages for any from Lily. When I don’t see a message from her, I fire one off.
Thinking of you. How is work? Debating another sandwich and fries. Why do you have to be so addicting?
Flirting with Lily is on a temporary pause, and every time I try, she shuts me down. I’m worried she’s pulling away. Or maybe she thinks I’m using it as a deflection from grieving.
But I’m not.
I need to explain my terrible behavior. Tell her I’m disappointed in myself, not her.
Pounding on the door makes me freeze halfway toward the first cabinet, and I detour to open it. It’s nearly impossible, but the hope it could be Lily—I desperately want to see her. Explain to her.
Though, as I slide on socked feet to reach for the door handle, I realize two things: she wouldn’t knock, and the shadow standing on the other side of the glass pane in the door is too tall to be hers. It’s too late. My hand has already twisted the handle to reveal a sweat-soaked Brent wringing his hands in front of his body. He shakes and wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand.
I step forward, pulling the door so it’s cracked behind me. “What the hell?” I bark.
“Noah, man, sorry about your mom.” He says it and his teeth chatter, except it’s not that cold today.
“Thanks,” I say, but really, I want to grab him by the throat and toss him off the porch. Why is he bothering me at such an awful time?
“Boss thought you may want to reconsider things, now that taking care of your mom isn’t a factor.” He tucks both hands into his tattered coat pocket—the boss can’t take care of his men, clearly.
My nostrils flare. “I don’t.”
“Look, man, I’m not supposed to leave here until you’re willing.”
Max growls from behind the door and noses it. I pull it shut, then step farther into him on the porch.
Brent hisses.
“It’s not just for my mom, Brent. I’m not working for thugs. I’m not breaking the law. I havepeoplethat depend on me to be here. It’s not worth it.”
“Your chick? From what I’ve seen she’s been pretty busy this week and not making time for you. There’s money in it, man. You could be set for life.”
He prattles on, naming benefit after benefit, but I tune him out. There will never be a time I put myself in a position to prove to Lily law enforcement is pathetic. She’s been let down before.
“It’s not happening. Tell Raven to come see me himself if he has a problem with the information you relay.”
“Raven doesn’t cater to people.” He shakes. “Kinda poetic, though.”
“What?”
“You calling him by his street name when your girl calls him by his given.” He backs up, leading a leg down one of the steps, then he slaps his thigh, letting out a howling laugh.
My expression doesn’t change, but something shifts—a flicker in his eyes, a shadow. Is he toying with me?
“You’re high, as always. Tell your boss I’m not interested.”
He holds up both hands in typical Brent fashion, a mock surrender, and he smirks. Walking backward down the stone pathway, he says, “I’ll let Bran know.”
A thick stretch of silence suffocates the space between us as the name sits heavy on my tongue. “Bran …” I turn it over in my mind, and as a punctuation mark to the sick cruelty, a lone raven calls against the humid air. It itches the back of my brain, and then it clicks.
Miss me?Bran is here. He’s Raven, and he’s the one who got to Lily’s notebook.
No.
