Spirit and I slinked through the trees, getting as close to the house as possible without being seen. Pastures, and thirty acres of forest—give or take—surrounded the home. An old, blue seventy-nine Ford was sitting out in the driveway.
A light inside flicked on, then another, then another. Movement caught my eye and I watched as two silhouettes sat in front of a large window at the front of the house. Rose dropped her head into her hands and the other silhouette wrapped an arm around her.
I frowned, my mind racing.
Rose had no family, that was apparent. She also appeared to have no friends.
Who was Rose visiting?
I guided Spirit behind a tree and sat back in the saddle, watching the silhouette through the windows.
Rose Floris had secrets.
And just like that, just when I thought I could walk away, I was sucked back in.
25
ROSE
By the time I parked in front of Kline and Associates, I was the human equivalent of a ticking time bomb. If there were an image next to the term in the dictionary, I’d be it—wired, frayed, and seconds from combustion. I’ve never functioned well on little sleep, but throw in a dead body and a fight with a jealous, short-tempered control freak (that I wasstillhopelessly attracted to) and I wasn’t just tired—I was on the edge of a full-blown breakdown.
In short? Hot mess.
The only silver lining was the weather. After days of relentless rain, the sky had finally opened to a bleak but dry stretch of overcast calm—the kind of eerie stillness that always came before a storm. The weatherman promised more chaos tomorrow.
My hand trembled slightly as I pushed through the front door.
Zoey popped up from behind the front desk, her box braids bouncing on her shoulders—some of which jingled with tiny bells. “Rose, are you okay?”
Well, that answered that. Word had spread.
She rounded the desk and gently took the coffee and briefcase from my hands. I clung to my purse like a lifeline.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
But as I got a good look at her, I frowned. The usual trendsetter was dressed down in a slouchy sweater and faded skinny jeans, her eyes puffy and bloodshot.
“Areyouokay?” I asked.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah. Irish car bombs.”
I blinked. “What, did you spend the night at a frat house?”
“Pretty much.”
Despite the weight in my chest, I smiled.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said, walking around the desk. “You should’ve called in sick.”
Truth was, I’d considered it. But nothing was going to soothe my nerves, so I might as well channel the anxiety into something useful. Work had always been my distraction. My safe zone.
“Seriously, though,” Zoey continued, brushing a comforting hand over my back, “are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Did you really… see him?”
The image of Andrew—bloodied, lifeless—flashed behind my eyes like lightning. My stomach flipped.
