As Indy reaches above my head to hold the door, he throws another concerned glance at me. “Do you need anything?” he continues. “Tissues? Chocolate? Ice cream?”
Once we pass through the doorway, he releases the door and wraps his arm around me again. I loop my arm around his waist and lean my head against his shoulder. “I’m okay. A little sad, but okay.”
Then the rest of what he said hits me. “Chocolate? Ice cream?”
“Yeah.” His lips press to my hair. “I know cooking makes you feel better, but you can’t exactly do that in the hospital parking lot. Same with watchingTop Chef. So I was trying to think of something else. Eden always wants chocolate when she’s upset. My mom likes ice cream.”
I imagine a younger Indy rushing out to the grocery store to stock up on piles of chocolate and cartons of ice cream for his mom and sister. Maybe even biking to the store, since he wasn’t even sixteen when his dad passed away. Carrying bags ofgroceries with one arm while he steered the bike with the other, his focus set on doing whatever he could to help them feel better.
Because that’s the kind of man Indy is. Give him a problem, he’ll try to come up with a way to fix it.
“No chocolate or ice cream?” he asks. “Do you want something different to eat? Or we could stop at that fancy cooking store you told me about. Buy something to go in your new kitchen.”
A happy bubble expands inside me, pushing aside the lingering sadness.
My new kitchen. In my new apartment. In Newberg, just a short drive from Blade and Arrow.
In just about a week, I’ll be starting my new life on the West Coast. Living in a short-term rental to begin with, since Indy and I both agreed it was probably better to take that part of things slowly.
“I love being with you,” I explained when we first talked about the specifics of my move. “And it’s not that I don’t want to live with you. But I need to be okay with being on my own again first.”
Part of me—the part led by my emotions—wants to move in with Indy right away. That part wants to know that Indy will be there whenever I have a nightmare or a strange sound sends me into a panic. That part insists that I won’t feel safe without Indy around to protect me. That I’ll feel empty and scared without him there.
But that’s also why I think I need some time on my own.
As much as I love Indy, as much as I love being with him, I don’t want to lose my independence. I don’t want to be some frightened, broken woman who needs her man to keep her together.
Because I’m not broken. And I have no reason to be scared anymore.
Manny’s in jail. So is Mack. And in the two days since our escape from the mine—which was in West Virginia, just as Indy suspected—even more evidence has been found tying the two brothers to their crimes.
In Mack’s apartment in Wilkes Barre, they found files on each man on the hit list, along with elaborate plans for how to kill each one of them. Black Cobweb featured heavily in each plan, along with detailed schedules, medical records, and family members that could be used as leverage.
The police also discovered vials of Black Cobweb, presumably stored as backup in case Manny ran out of it. They found a dupe of my old phone and a program on Mack’s computer that allowed him to hack my implants.
And tucked far in the back corner of Mack’s bedroom closet, they discovered photos and documents that explained everything else.
So now we know the dark truth of the brothers’ background. We know that Mack is four years younger than Manny, and their mother was pregnant with him when their father died. She took off into the woods of West Virginia to raise the two boys by herself, eschewing everything she considered to be part of the traitorous government who covered up her husband’s wrongful death.
Aside from the day Manny was born, she didn’t bring her sons to the doctor once. Mack was born in their little cabin, which is why there were no birth records linking him to his brother. No doctor visits, no immunizations, and she never enrolled them in school. Eventually, the brothers moved away as adults—Manny to Scranton and Mack just a half-hour away in Wilkes Barre—but there was nothing to link them together. And with a last name as common as Davis, there was just no way for anyone to have ever seen the connection.
I’m sure Tyler’s feeling guilty about it, anyway. He shouldn’t, but that’s just who he is.
When I get to my new place, I’ll make Tyler cookies and bring them to him. German chocolate with coconut, which I discovered is his favorite. And I’ll tell Tyler he has nothing to feel guilty about and how grateful I am for everything he’s done for me.
He’ll probably still feel guilty. Just like I know Indy does about what happened with Mack.
Neither of them have any reason to, of course.
Not Tyler, who might be a computer genius but can’t find everything, no matter how much he’d like to.
And not Indy, who was put into an unwinnable position. With a syringe filled with Black Cobweb only centimeters from my neck, he couldn’t have fought back. All he could do was what he did—go along with Mack’s insane plan while biding his time, waiting for an opening.
At the time, I wasn’t sure the syringe actually contained Black Cobweb or if it was all a ruse. But now I know it was. Enough to stop my heart and lungs in under a minute, just like Mack promised.
One wrong move, and I could have died.
And Indy could have just as easily died, too. Mack could’ve shot him right there in my kitchen. He could have injected him with Black Cobweb in the van. He could have killed Indy when we got to the mine.
