My gaze roams the blanket of trees below, trying to figure out which way they would have gone. Would they have followed the road? Ventured toward town, which you can’t even see from here, or gone deeper into the wilderness?
Too many options, and if they’re lost and injured, they’re not going to get far.
Wilde sets the winch back in the truck, but before he can turn for the cab, I grab his arm. I give him my best pleading look, and the longer we make eye contact, the warier his gaze gets.
“There’s no guarantee we’d even find them.”
The alternative is definitely not finding them, and I’m not okay with a person or people dying because we didn’t try.
My throat feels tight as I push out one word. “Please.”
Wilde isn’t thrilled that I’m making this our problem, but we know this forest better than anyone. An unspoken rule in this town is that we help people who need it, and whoever this isdefinitelyneeds it.
“Fine,” he finally relents. “I’ll talk to Lynx. If anyone is going to be able to hunt down a stray, it’s him.”
The doubt I’m feeling must come through on my face.
“I know, I know. He doesn’t like to play nice, but if it means getting rid of strangers, he’ll be on it. His whole job is to keep the pests away.”
Considering he hasn’t been able to accomplish that with the brothers is part of the reason he hates them so much.
“That’s a good idea,” Booker agrees, and it’s not until he keeps speaking that I follow why he’s so supportive. “And don’t stress. If Lynx takes things too far, you know I’m here to put the stranger back together.”
“So generous of you,” Wilde deadpans.
“I’m always happy to help.”
It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he caused problems so he could fix them again. It’s half of the reason Peril got so popular so quickly. Sure, it brings in good money, but Booker isn’t short on patients to play with after each match. The thing about Booker is that he’s a hard guy to read.
He has a sweet, innocent face, and his tone always feels so happy and warm. He’s friendly and enthusiastic about everything, but sometimes my subconscious picks up on a vibe that’s not quite right, even if I can’t name exactly why.
I have another one of those moments when we climb back into the truck, me in the middle, and Booker turns his focus on me. His smile is genuine, and he scratches my head like someone would scratch a cat. “You’re something special,” he says, and everything about it is sincere and warm—but my suspicion kicks in anyway. “What I wouldn’t give to see inside your brain.”
There it is. Because I get the feeling when Booker says that, he doesn’t mean figuratively, like he wants to know what makes me tick.
He’s talking literally.
He wants to cut open my brain and see how it compares.
I bat his hand away and give him a grossed-out expression that makes him laugh.
“It’s purely professional curiosity, my dear.”
“It better be,” Wilde says in his growly voice.
“You two are so serious.” The sigh he lets out manages to sound disgruntled. “Since the exciting morning came to nothing, should we do something together? Drive down to Wayward for lunch? Help Lynx on his manhunt?” There’s a brief pause. “Visit those delicious brothers?”
“You’re not going near them.”
“But Hudson and I are such good friends. I’ve seen his insides, after all.”
Hiswhat?
Wilde grunts and throws Booker an unimpressed look. “It was a burn. Hardly his insides.”
Booker’s chubby cheeks stretch in an innocent smile. “We’re close, is all. But he’s yours. It’s the other two I’m interested in getting to know because I have a feeling they’d be fun. The happy one sounds boring, but I’ve heard the other one is … my type of man.”
My ears ring over the thought of him finding Kennedy boring. “He’s not.” It doesn’t come out as loud as I want it to.
