I watched as he disappeared back onto the porch, returning moments later with something in his hands. A small terracotta pot containing a leafy green plant with delicate purple flowers sat so small against his large hands.
“Sage,” he said, offering it to me. “Sarah’s favorite. Heals the soul, she said.”
I took the pot with careful hands, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The gesture felt impossibly intimate, him sharing not just a plant, but a piece of her. Of him.
“I’ve never kept anything alive before,” I admitted, studying the small leaves.
“Water twice a week.” His voice was soft. “Morning sun. It’ll do the rest.”
He walked me back through the kitchen to my truck. “Thanks for the shelter,” I said, standing beside my vehicle, the potted sage held carefully against my chest. “And the company.”
Rancor’s hand came up, hesitated, then gently tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear. The touch sent electricity through me, different from the storm’s energy but no less powerful.
“Give me your phone,” he demanded. He got this stubborn look about him when he thought he wasn’t going to get something he wanted very much. I had to bite back a smile as I handed it to him. He punched in some numbers and there was a buzzing sound from his pants. Yeah. Wasn’t touching that one. “Sent my phone a text so you have my number.” He held my gaze. “Come back,” he said. Not a question. Not quite an order. Something in-between.
“I will.” I smiled up at him, meaning it more than I’d meant anything in a long time. “I don’t have anything scheduled, but I would love to spend some time with you.”
“Yes.” His simple reply made me smile.
I climbed into my vehicle, setting the sage on the passenger seat with care. I started the engine and put the vehicle in gear. As I pulled away, I caught sight of him in the rearview mirror. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the path I was going down but found myself wanting to skip along it all the same. And forthe first time in my life, the road ahead felt like it might lead somewhere other thanaway.
Chapter Five
Cora
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time I left the compound, but the roads glistened like black ice under my headlights. I gripped the steering wheel with one hand while the other rested protectively over the small pot of sage Marcus had given me. I smiled despite the weather, despite everything. The truck’s wipers squeaked against the windshield, struggling against the mist that wasn’t quite rain anymore but refused to clear.
The headlights behind me caught my attention, reflecting in my rearview mirror and casting my cab in harsh white light. A car had pulled onto the road behind me from a side street. Nothing unusual about that. I flipped my mirror to dim the glare and focused on the road ahead.
Three turns later, the same headlights remained fixed behind me. My shoulders tightened. I had to be paranoid. Two people could share the same route home without it meaning anything.
I took a right turn I didn’t need to take.
The car followed.
My pulse quickened. I checked the speedometer, making sure I didn’t go even a mile over the limit. My registration was current, my lights all worked, and I hadn’t had anything to drink. There shouldn’t be a reason for anyone to pull me over, but the whole vibe just screamed cops.
The headlights drew closer, close enough that I could now make out the silhouette of a police cruiser. Just like I thought. My mouth went dry. I’d had enough run-ins with police during my homeless months when I first came back to the states todevelop a healthy wariness. They hadn’t exactly been friendly to teenage runaways, even ones who weren’t causing trouble.
I took another unnecessary turn, this one taking me farther from my apartment. The cruiser followed, maintaining its distance. Just close enough to let me know I was being watched and they were playing with me.
Then the red and blue lights flashed on, painting the wet pavement ahead of me in alternating crimson and cobalt. My heart slammed against my ribs. I pulled off into a gas station parking lot under the flood lights. I didn’t have any reason to think there was any danger, except the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I lowered the window but returned my hand to the wheel, making sure to keep my hands still and visible.
Because I liked keeping a low profile, I did my best to obey the law in all respects. I didn’t jaywalk. I didn’t drink if I expected to go anywhere other than where I was drinking. I’d never even smoked weed, for fuck’s sake. But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my throat felt tight with fear. I’d learned to listen to that internal warning.
The officer didn’t approach immediately. The waiting ratcheted up my anxiety until I felt my pulse throbbing in my fingertips where I gripped the steering wheel. Through my side mirror, I watched a man finally exit the cruiser. Tall, maybe in his fifties, with broad shoulders and a swaggering walk that spoke of absolute confidence and a healthy dose of arrogance. Just ducky.
“License and registration.” His voice was flat, professional, giving nothing away. I got a better look at him now. Sharp features, close-cropped gray hair, steel-colored eyes that assessed me with cold calculation.
“Can I ask why I’m being pulled over, Officer?” My voice came out steadier than I expected.
“Detective,” he corrected. “Detective Reeves. And you were swerving.” I hadn’t been swerving. We both knew it. But arguing would only make things worse.
“I’m sorry, Detective. The roads are slippery.” I reached slowly for my glove compartment. “My registration is in here, and my license is in my wallet.”
I retrieved the requested documents, leaving the glove box open. His gaze flicked to the potted sage on my passenger seat, then back to me as I handed over my license and registration.
“Been drinking, Ms. English?”
