13
Harlow
No latching mechanism held the door at the end of the hall in place. Harlow glanced from the fallen doorknob in the corner to the bore hole, glimpsing the room beyond through its negative space. It appeared to be small, the kind of room that would struggle to contain both a twin mattress and a dresser. Harlow’s vantage point allowed him to see a section of bed—dark blue comforter and metal frame. He saw neither Evie nor either of Simon’s brothers, but he’d seen Evie inside previously, and he knew there was nowhere else she could have gone. The apartment was small enough that he would have heard it if someone had tried to sneak through the front door, and the fire escape out the opposite bedroom’s window was too treacherous to use—it looked like someone had wrenched the extension ladder leading down to the next floor from one of its hinges. During his first exterior sweep of the building, Harlow had made a note of it. No one would be getting out, and that meant that Eviehadto be inside, if not behind this door, then behind the next.
The daughter he’d sworn to protect was found, so why didn’t it feel like an accomplishment?
Dark uncertainty coiled around Harlow’s mind, tightening its grip the longer he hesitated. When Evie had left, he’d assumed it was because she hadn’t been given a choice—that someone out there had discovered a secret about her that had bent her will—but that wasn’t the case. Evie wasn’t being contained. When she’d spotted him in the hall, she’d gasped and ducked back into the room. No one was holding her back at gunpoint or keeping her bound in a chair.
She’d run away, and if the look on her face that moment he’d spotted her down the hall told him anything, she’d run away because ofhim.
He had to make this right.
Throat clenched, Harlow lifted his fist and knocked on the wall beside the door. “Evie? It’s your dad.”
Nothing.
“I… I don’t really understand what’s happened, but I want to make it right.” Harlow resisted a frown. The more he dwelt on what had happened, the worse he felt. “All I want to do is talk. I want to understand what’s going on. Can you give me that?”
Nothing.
Harlow sighed. Walking away wasn’t an option, but it had been his hope that Evie wouldn’t force his hand. What had happened to the girl he knew? The one whose giggle-snort made Harlow want to laugh right along with her?
It felt like she’d been stolen from him.
What was going on in Evie’s head? He wished he knew.
He wished she’d let him in.
“Evie, I’m opening the door.” No matter how her actions tore him apart, Harlow couldn’t step down. More than anger, more than frustration, more than grief, he struggled with fear. In the few hours they’d been apart, anything could have happened, and he wouldn’t have been able to prevent it. Evie could have been spirited away, enslaved, abused… above all else, he needed to see with his own eyes that she was okay. A quick glance from down the hall wasn’t enough. He needed to know for sure.
After a moment’s pause, Harlow set his hand on the door and pushed. It didn’t take much force—it opened for him gladly, exposing the room that lay beyond. The bed that Harlow had seen through the bore hole was pushed against the opposite wall, positioned next to a window. To the right, crammed against the foot of the bed and the wall, was a dresser. A laundry basket sat in front of it, almost overflowing with clothes. To the left was a desk under which was a computer tower. Its power button blinked blue. A monitor, unlit, was positioned on the desk, partially hidden behind a stack of math and science textbooks. Posters hung on the wall, sci-fi futurescapes and other technological, glowy designs. But of all the room’s details, Harlow’s attention was hinged on one—Evie stood at the foot of the bed, her calf brushing the side of the laundry basket. She had her hands in her pockets and her gaze lowered, but apart from how miserable she looked, she appeared unscathed.
Harlow stood in the doorway, unable to react, as every one of his emotions sharpened and cut into him at once.
How could she do this to him?
How could she be sostupid?
He wanted to grab her and shake her until she understood, to force her to see what she’d done to him, and what danger she’d put herself in while doing it. But in the end, the force that propelled Harlow across the room wasn’t anger—it was relief—and as he wrapped his arms around Evie and tugged her to his chest, he thought his heart might explode from it.
Previously quashed emotions sprang forth. Harlow buried his face against the top of her head, not caring that her hair clip dug into his cheek.
She was okay.
She wasokay.
“Oh, Evie,” he murmured, not caring if she heard or not. “Don’t do that again. Please, please don’t do that again. I was so afraid.”
A floorboard creaked beneath heavy weight. Harlow recognized the sound—a stealthily taken footstep gone wrong.
The other voice in the room.
Simon’s brother.
Harlow released Evie and spun toward the noise. He wiped the vulnerability from his face and concealed the raw emotions he’d indulged in seconds before. Braced for combat, ready for an attack, Harlow positioned himself between Evie and the source of the sound. It had come from the room’s closet.
Auburn hair. Pale skin. Blue eyes.
