This isI’m letting you see nothingblankness.
“No.”
I study his eyes—definitely more alert, if still guarded—then make a quick visual inspection of the rest of the man who used to be my shameful secret boy band crush.
More heat courses through my body.
That’s not all he is now, even if he doesn’t know it.
I think.
Probably.
Rumor around town is that he just knows things.
That’s probably why I picked him. The risk of telling stories about a man who has a way ofknowingthings. That, and he only stops by Shipwreck occasionally to visit Beck Ryder, one of his former bandmates who’s had a weekend house up here for longer than I’ve lived here.
“Follow my fingers with your eyes,” I order, lifting a hand.
The blank look stays. “I’m fine.”
Great. Want to pretend to be my fake fiancé?
I shake my head and rise, aware that he’s tracking my movements as I begin to circle him.
The man could have a concussion. Now is not the time to ask him for a favor.
There’s no obvious blood anywhere. Pupils seem fine. Breathing normal.
Good. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Who was that?”
Again, no answer.
Just him watching me watch him as I pace around him, checking to make sure his movements are normal.
Until he flings an arm out. “Don’t step in the coffee.”
So I don’t fall?
Or so I don’t destroy evidence at a crime scene?
Oh my god.
What is even happening right now?
Breathe, Sloane. Breathe.“Who gave you the code to get in here? What are you doing here?”
His eyes slide to the back door again, then to the wide filing cabinet where one of the drawers is cracked, then back to me, like he’s sayingfollowing someone else who’s not supposed to be here, duh.
And like that’s all the answer I’m going to get.
But more questions are bubbling up.
Who was in here with him? What did they want?
