A shower. That’s what I need to get rid of this adrenaline. A long shower until it doesn’t feel like I’m the reason these murders are happening. Like these people’s blood is on my hands.
I strip off my clothes, each layer feeling heavier than the last as it falls to the floor. I step into the shower, and though the warm water hits me like a release, I feel as tense as ever, my muscles knotted tight. I press my palms against the cool tile and let the water fill my ears with a rushing sound that drowns out the churning in my mind.
I go over Celeste’s words, trying to calm myself, trying to find some thread of logic to cling to. But the what-ifs swirl around me, thickening the air until it feels hard to breathe. What if the police don’t believe her? What if this person—whoever they are—hurts someone else? Or comes after us?
The water turns from comforting warmth to a too-hot sting on my shoulders, but I can’t bring myself to move. My stomach twists, every beat of my heart a pulse of panic.
Then I hear the doorbell.
“Fuck.” I step out of the shower at record speed. “Coming!” I call, though I can’t be sure they hear me, and once I have my usual yellow towel wrapped around me, I head down the stairs.
I nearly face-plant on the carpet before I open the door, peephole be damned, and freeze on the spot as my eyes land on Rafael’s crookedly charming smile. My heart does an odd little flip.
Rafael’s back. And he’s at my door.
I smooth my wet hair, trying to mask the flurry of emotions swirling inside me. “You’re here,” I say. My gaze sweeps over him, taking in the loose white button-down shirt, sleeves bunched up enough to reveal his forearms, and the leather jacket swung over one shoulder. Sherlock is dangling from his arm, legs flailing as he tries to escape Rafael’s hold. “Is that my cat?”
He steps forward, carefully placing Sherlock on the ground, who immediately trots over to me, tail flicking in irritation. “I found him snooping on my porch.”
“Rooo,” Sherlock protests, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to defend his honor.
“Fun fact: he hates me,” Rafael says with a lopsided grin. “But Iswearhe was making that noise before I got him,” he adds, raising his hands in mock surrender.
My heart still races. “No, he’s—that’s how he meows.” I glance at him again, struggling to believe he’s standing at my door. “You’re back.”
He lifts a takeout bag. “And I got Chinese.”
Of course he did. I watch him warily. “Did you get wontons?”
“What kind of barbarian shows up at a woman’s house with Chinese food and no wontons?”
“Come in.” I open the door wider, and his eyes flick down my body, taking in the sight of my towel. Though men have looked at me with desire before, the way his eyes instantly darken feels completely different. It feels… primal. Instinctual. Inevitable.
It shoots straight into my belly, warmth pooling at my core.
“How’s it going?” I ask, but he doesn’t seem to hear me, eyes still on the towel. “Rafael?” I call, fighting the instinct to clench my legs.
“Uh, wh-what?” he stammers, and I bite back a smirk. “Caught me looking, didn’t you?”
My cheeks heat. “Uh-huh.”
“Can you blame me?” He points up and down at me. “That is onestunningtowel.”
“Oh, yeah. Seventy percent cotton.” I let him in, then follow him to the kitchen and lean against the counter as he unpacks the food. He names each dish as he uncovers it, and I can’t help noticing the faint shadows under his eyes and the stiffness in his posture.
I wonder if he’s okay—really okay. I know he skipped his dad’s funeral, but where has he been? He looks tired. Maybe he needs to talk.
“Everything looks amazing,” I say, breaking the silence as I take a seat.
“Yeah.” He lets the kitchen towel flop onto the island, sitting down on the stool next to me. “It’s also forty-eight hours late.”
Meeting his apologetic gaze, I bite into a spring roll. So much has happened today that this seems almost silly to discuss. “We’re diving in headfirst, huh?”
“I hear that’s what people in mature relationships do. You know, communication and all that.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure people in mature relationships don’t blow each other off.”
When he frowns, I bump my shoulder against his.
