‘Okay, I’m notcompletelycrazy. In that way.’
‘I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re indignant.’ The words slip out before I can catch them, and Maggie’s eyes widen before dipping back over my shoulder.
We hover, pretending to be engrossed in each other, watching as Priscilla lifts the tray and walks away, pill bottle in hand.
‘Come on,’ Maggie says, tugging my hand.
We follow at a distance, skulking around corners like we’re in Scooby-bloody-Doo, until Priscilla stops at a cabinet. She opens it, slips the bottle inside, and locks it with a decisive click before sliding the key into her pocket.
Maggie deflates, frustration written all over her pretty face.
I glance at the cabinet, then back at her. ‘Didn’t learn lockpicking in murder school?’
She shoots me a look.
‘I’d have thought that was assassin one-oh-one.’ I shrug.
‘If you haven’t noticed, I’m no good at any ofthis.’
There’s something painfully raw in the way she says it. Like she really wishes she could excel in the murder business.
I squeeze her hand once. ‘At least you noticed what she’s doing, that’s got to count for something in the sneaky assassin handbook.’
She shrugs.
Behind us, laughter carries down the corridor. Eddie’s voice rising over it. Like he owns the place.
My stomach tightens.
Whatever’s going on in this house, I’m no longer convinced Maggie’s imagining it.
SEVENTEEN
MAGGIE
Sleep doesn’t come.
And neither do I. Which is bugging me. Usually, a quick fumble in the dark with myself clears my head, and I can’t do that while Roman is in my bed.
It might be a bit much to ask him to go into the bathroom so I can rub one out. Or maybe he’d prefer to stay…
No, Maggie. Stop it.
Roman is stretched out on the bed, his shirt riding up and exposing an expanse of stomach that is making my horn-haze even worse.
‘I can’t just ignore it. She crushed something, and it didn’t look like a vitamin to me.’
‘It still could be. Maybe your dad doesn’t like to take pills.’
‘He’s not a bloody five-year-old.’
He rolls toward me and sets those lash-framed eyes on me. ‘What are you thinking, exactly?’
‘I’m thinking we go investigating,’ I say. ‘Everyone will be in bed, so it shouldn’t matter if we need to bust the cabinet open.’
His mouth curves. ‘You’re going to break into a cabinet in your own house?’
‘I need to know what’s going on, and lying here isn’t helping. My head’s a mess.’
