"Cleaning your guns doesn't count."
Before I can respond, Ellie appears with a group of women I vaguely recognize from around town. "Sarah! You have to meet everyone. This is Monica, she runs the bookstore. And that's Rachel, she teaches at the elementary school. And you know Mira from the bar."
The women descend on Sloane, pulling her into their circle, asking questions about where she's from and how long she'sstaying. I watch from a few feet away, nursing my beer, as she transforms into someone I barely recognize. Animated, laughing, telling stories that have the group in hysterics.
"—and then Dane decided he could fix the sink himself," she's saying, gesturing wildly. "Spent three hours under there with a wrench, came out soaking wet, and the leak was worse than when he started. Had to call an actual plumber, who fixed it in ten minutes."
The women laugh. I've never had a plumbing disaster in my life. The sink works perfectly.
"He sounds like a handful," one of them says.
"You have no idea. Growing up with him was a nightmare. He once tried to build a treehouse and nearly burned down our neighbor's garage."
Also completely fictional. I move closer, intending to pull her aside and remind her that embellishing too much makes the story hard to track. But she sees me coming and her smile widens.
"Speak of the devil! Ladies, my dear brother has decided to grace us with his presence." She raises her glass in a mock toast. "Tell them about the time you got stuck in that tree trying to rescue a cat."
"That never happened."
"Oh, it absolutely happened. He was up there for two hours before the fire department came. The cat climbed down on its own after five minutes."
The women laugh again, and I realize she's doing this on purpose. Creating a version of me that's harmless, bumbling,the opposite of threatening. It's actually smart—makes me more human, more approachable, less likely to be scrutinized.
But it's also annoying as hell.
Miles appears at my elbow. "Your sister's a riot. Is she always this much fun?"
"She has her moments."
"You two close growing up?"
"Not particularly. Different interests." I keep my answers short and vague, impossible to verify.
"Yeah? What was she into?"
"Books, mostly. School. She was the smart one." All generic enough to be believable. "I was more interested in getting into trouble."
"Military straighten you out?"
"Something did." I take another drink, watching Sloane work the crowd. She's moved on to another group now, Ellie keeping her supplied with fresh drinks. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and she's laughing at something Gideon just said.
And she's fucking gorgeous, even when she's lying and humiliating me. It almost makes my dick hard watching her, but then a brother wouldn't think about his sibling that way and I have to keep control of myself or I'll be the one blowing our cover, not Sloane and her antics.
An hour passes. Then another. Sloane's thoroughly drunk now, her movements looser, her laugh louder. I've cut myself off after two beers—someone needs to drive, and watching her work the room requires a clear head. She's told at least a dozen ridiculousstories about our fictional childhood, each more elaborate than the last.
I'm standing near the wall, trying to be invisible, when Miles walks up to me again, but this time, he looks like he's all business. "Hey, Strouse. I meant to catch you earlier. Got another package for you at the post office. Courier dropped it off this morning."
My blood runs cold. "Another one?"
"Yeah, same deal as last time. Just your name, no return address. I figured I'd save you a trip, dropped it in your truck bed on my way in." He gestures toward the parking lot. "Hope that's alright."
"That's fine. Thanks." I keep my voice level, casual, but every instinct is screaming at me to get to that truck. Another package means another message, another piece of whatever countdown we're trapped in. This makes the third time this dirtbag has tried to rattle my cage, and it's starting to work.
But Sloane's across the room, drunk and loose-lipped, and I can't leave her unattended. She's already told these people too much, created too many details that don't match reality. If I disappear and someone asks her the wrong question, she might slip or say something that exposes us both.
I move through the crowd toward her. She's on the dance floor now, moving to the music with Ellie and two other women I don't know. When she sees me approaching, her face lights up.
"Dane! Come dance!"
