My heart belongs to someone else now, and that someone would have to prove himself a colossal waste of time for me to give up on him now.
“You can’t stay here,” Jace says from the corner, speaking for the first time since we entered the house. His voice is gruff and defensive, like he's feeling jealous that I'm hugging Everette, butI don't mind that tinge of possessiveness. “If Bryan will send someone once, he’ll send someone again. Pack a bag. We’re putting you in a hotel for safekeeping until we can get this evidence in the right hands."
Hamilton nods without argument.
I exhale the breath I have held for two years.
I'm no longer alone.
17
JACE
Iswing the truck into the Pilot lot south of Lynchburg and park in the shadows behind the last row of idling semis. Rain needles the windshield and the neon sign buzzes overhead, illuminating the puddles. I can't begin to express how happy I am that it's not snow. It's been a long day, and adding snow to that would only make it worse.
My vision tunnels from exhaustion, the stab wound in my thigh throbs, and the road has been swimming in front of me for the last twenty miles. I can't push another inch tonight. If I do, I'm risking both of our lives for no reason.
Sabine sits against the passenger door with her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them. Her eyes are closed peacefully but she isn't sleeping. I kill the engine and she blinks a few times, yawning hard. We're both so cozy in here, but we have to get out and move or we'll end up with blood clots in our legs from sitting for too long.
“Shower,” I grumble in her general direction. I know she'll appreciate it too. “You’re filthy and you stink…"
She turns her head slowly and looks at me through half-lidded eyes. “Well, you're a ray of sunshine this evening," she mutters as she rolls her eyes, and I chuckle at her. I'm sure when she's clean, she'll thank me.
“Nag me when you're not festering in anxiety sweat anymore…" I wink at her, and we climb out into the wet, frigid air. It's colder now than it's been in weeks with this wind, but the snow is holding off for now. The farther south we get, the better weather we'll have.
Sabine slides from my truck holding her duffle bag under one arm and giving me a sour look, like she wanted to sit there and sleep. I walk her through the automatic doors of the newly remodeled truck stop and straight to the fuel desk. The clerk is a kid with acne scars and a neck tattoo, scrolling his phone and ignoring most of the customers. I have to tap the counter a few times to get his attention.
“She wants a shower,” I tell him, sliding cash across the counter. “Throw in a towel pack too.”
He rings it without looking up, hands me the key card and a plastic-wrapped bundle. Sabine takes them and lifts an eyebrow at the kid. I think we're both wondering the same thing—whether that kid is mute or something. Then she sighs at me and starts walking away.
“See you in forty-five,” she mutters, and disappears down the cinder-block hallway toward the showers.
The door swings shut behind her, and I stand there staring at the empty space, thinking something maybe I shouldn’t be.
Hamilton’s arms around her. Her hands flat on his back. Her face turned into his shoulder while he whispered apologies into her hair.
The way she let him hold her like that sparked something in my chest that I can't seem to fight back. My fists curl at my sides. The jealousy is a living thing now, coiled like a serpent in my gut. I don't like the feeling at all. It's a possessive, angry tension grating at my insecurities, but I don’t dare tell her that. I have no ownership over Sabine Hart or her attention. Expressing my distaste for her touching another man would be like telling the president where to sit in his own office.
It's just not a good look on any person.
I turn away before the kid notices and head toward the diner counter. The grill area smells like burnt chicken, but there isn’t much else here other than pre-packaged convenience food. I look up at the menu of images that make the food look gourmet knowing it'll be nothing more than gas-station mediocre, but I have to eat.
A woman in a hairnet and a name tag that readsCARLAlooks up from wiping the stainless steel. "What'll you have, handsome?" Her words strike me as funny, because just as much as I hated seeing Hamilton wrap Sabine in those thick biceps he had, I dislike the feeling of some other woman flirting with me. It makes me cringe, even though she's a sweet, fairly good-looking woman.
“Turkey club, no mayo, large Coke,” I tell her while avoiding eye contact and pulling out my wallet again.
She punches buttons on the register. “Seven forty-two, honey." She holds her hand out, but I'm not foolish enough to put my cash in her hand and spark anything at all.
I drop a ten on the counter and tell her to keep the change, and she turns to grab my items. She slides the tray across three minutes later without a word, so I take it to the dining room and pick the booth farthest from the doors. Sitting here with my back to the wall, I'll be able to see when Sabine walks out.
I drop into the cracked vinyl seat and unwrap the sandwich. The television bolted high on the wall across the room runs CNN on mute with captions scrolling. A reporter stands outside Dempsey’s house next to yellow tape flapping in the wind. I remember that place too well. They have grainy footage now—me leaving the driveway with my hood up. It looks like it came from a neighbor across the street who had a Ring cam.
The ticker reads “Chicago authorities link multiple suspicious deaths, seek person of interest.” They don't have my name yet, and there isn't an indication of it being linked to any of the others, or at least not Dempsey's military record, but it's only a matter of time now.
I bite into the sandwich and chew without tasting anything. Bread sticks to the roof of my mouth. All I see is Hamilton’s hand sliding to the small of Sabine's back, the way she leaned in instead of pulling away. She needed comfort and she took it from him. Not from me.
The jealousy claws deeper.
