I look at her.
She pauses. “Okay, I can run inpanic.”
“That’ll do,” I mutter.
She darts into her bedroom. I hang in the doorway, scanning the room while she shoves things into a duffel with frantic efficiency.
She freezes for half a second, clutching a handful of shirts. “Jack.”
“What?”
Her gaze meets mine, and for a beat the fear fades and there’s something else there—something hot and curious and dangerous.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re… deciding something.”
I swallow.
I don’t answer.
Because Iamdeciding something.
I’m deciding that nobody gets near her again. Not without going through me.
She zips the duffel. “Okay. I’m done.”
I take it from her immediately.
She starts to protest. I cut her off with one look. Her mouth closes.
We move back through the house, and as we pass the kitchen counter, she spots the zip tie.
Her face drains.
“What is that?” she whispers.
“A message,” I say.
Her voice shakes. “How did they get in?”
I shrug. “The door was unlocked.”
“I always lock up.” Her eyes dart around. I can see the fear hidden deep beneath her irises.
I grab her shoulders, bending my knees slightly to stare directly into her eyes. “This is a message that they can get in.”
She swallows hard. “Okay. Safe house.”
I nod. “Safe house.”
No more jokes.
No more pretending.
She follows me out, and I guide her into the truck, then lock the doors again.
