Me:
Ear and finger belong to a cult survivor.
I think Ethan found a way to type with just his thoughts—the reply comes that fast.
Kane:
Which one?
“Name?” I ask a stunned Coleman.
“Ah. Um…” He consults his phone for a second. “Ana Danbury. Apparently, if she had a name, she didn’t know it, and the surname is where she was found.”
My heart clenches as I relay the info to Ethan. Though Basia is my only priority, I’m not heartless and unempathetic to her plight. She had a rough life and probably an end that was just as rough. And for what? To bring attention to the people who hurt her first? This motherfucker is sick and needs to be put down.
“So she was found nearby,” I muse out loud. “Lived in the city?”
“Yes,” Teddy says quietly, all traces of humor now gone. “She worked at a dry cleaner’s in Queens.” He reads from his phone. “Manfredi’s. She also moonlighted as a cleaning lady.”
So probably barely scraping by. Fucking shame.
Kane:
I’ll set search parameters for facial pattern recognition in the areas she frequented, then run the results against the known cult kids.
Me:
Keep me updated.
“Are you texting Kane?” Coleman asks, finding his voice again. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Come on, who else would you have on this. Ethan’s the best.”
Heisthe best. And he’s going to help me find Basia’s stalker before he hurts another innocent woman.
My phone goes off in my hand, signaling another text.
Kane:
You know it. But I think it’s time we bring the guys in.
My jaw clenches at the words. Byguyshe means Killian Cross and Damien Hale, brothers in arms I’d lay my life down for. And while a part of me bristles at the insinuation that I can’t get this asshole on my own, the rational part knows Basia deserves the best. And these guys? They’re it.
12
BASIA
Ihave one eye on the movie we’re watching, the other on Caleb. The large mug of tea he brought me warms my hands, but I’ve only pretended to take sips. I’m waiting for him to turn his back so I can give a poor houseplant the best sleep she’s had since before Caleb came into my life and started watering them regularly. Before that, they probably hibernated a lot.
Caleb glances at me. “Is the tea good?” he asks casually.
I try to control my trembling hands as I smile at him. It’s not that I’m scared of what’s going to happen, though maybe a normal girl would be. No, I’m excited, anxious to see if it’s real or if I imagined it, and worried I won’t be able to pretend I’m asleep if he does come.
All day, I kept trying to bring back the fragmented pieces of memory, sorting out what could have been real and what was definitely a dream. Which meant thinking about sex and Caleb, and Caleb and sex. On a mental loop for hours. I even had to take my panties off in the toilets during lunch break because they were soaked and uncomfortable.
I admire the hard line of his jaw from under my lashes whilepretending to be engrossed in the cheesy alien movie on the screen. This late in the day, his stubble is out in full force, covering his cheeks and chin, and making me desperate to remember if I felt it between my legs at night.
There’s one question that I keep circling back to, one that only he can answer. What makes a man as ridiculously handsome as he is resort to anonymous nightly visits? Why not just tell me he wants me? I’m pretty sure he knows how I feel about him after all.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking my way.
