‘You trusted her?’ I ask.
Daisy lets out a slow breath.
‘Well, if she wasn’t legit, she would have shown Stoke what I’d taken. She disappeared after that day though. I hope it’s because she had enough evidence and not because Stoke had her killed, or something.’
‘You think he would have done that?’
She glances at me. ‘I don’t know, but there’s nothing more important to him than The Heath and his work. If he thought it was being threatened, maybe. Plus, there were rumors when I first got there that someone, oneof the residents, had died and no one knew about it. I heard he was quietly buried in the grounds.’
‘No way,’ I whisper. ‘That’s fucked up.’
She nods, her gaze a bit unfocused.
‘I’m out,’ she says to herself a few seconds later. ‘I’m out.’
‘You’re out,’ I say, squeezing her hand. ‘And you’re never going back, gorgeous. I promise. I’ll burn that house to the ground if I have to. But if you gave that journalist some incriminating evidence, then you've already started the process of getting The Heath closed for good.'
'I hope so.’
She leans against me and then stands again, walking around the room, looking around, her eyes flitting back to me every few seconds. She shakes her hands out and I can't help my small grin because I've seen her like this before.
I watch her subtly, trying to make her feel at ease. I don't want to start anything she doesn't really want. I don't want to goad her into something she's unsure of, but my thoughts are cut short as she gets on the bed again.
My eyes widen as I realize her towels are gone. She takes a hair tie and puts her hair up in a bun. I don't say anything, not wanting to startle her out of whatever she's about to do.
But then my gaze locks on the GED that’s strapped to her thigh and all the air disappears from my lungs. It looks different than the one Joe had put on her. It’s a light gray with Kevlar-looking straps and a thicker unit. It looks old and weathered.
I must make a sound because she looks into my face and frowns before following my eyes.
‘This one’s easier to get off,’ she says quietly. ‘I don’t suppose you have a knife.’
I nod,jumping up and grabbing my bag as fast as I can. I don’t want her to wait a moment longer to get rid of it. I’m angry with myself that I didn't think of getting it off her as soon as we got her out of that place.
I put my bag on the bed and rummage through it, finding my six-inch utility knife that, like the gun, I also shouldn't have brought. She holds out her hand for it and I flip it, giving to her handle first.
She cuts the Stinger off herself, sawing the Kevlar strap in two and flinging the whole thing into the trash before letting out a relieved breath, putting the knife down, and coming back to me.
‘Thanks,’ she says, her expression darkening as she looks up at me.
She needs this.
So do I.
Her eyes move over me, stopping at mine for a moment before flitting away again.
I don't make her say it. Instead, I sit up and take off my shirt. I wonder if that'll be enough to make her understand that I'm up for whatever she wants to do. Her eyes follow the trail of my tattoo, and her fingertips begin tracing.
A moment later, I can't help my low groan as I lean back against the pillows and close my eyes, feeling the tickle of her fingertip as she follows the geometric cubes that run from my shoulder down my side.
The first brush of her lips against mine surprises me. It's just a flutter. The next brush is more forceful. Deeper. Her tongue traces the side of my lips, and I open for her.
Her deft fingers unbutton my pants and unzip me, pulling my jeans down just enough that my underwear is on show. I shimmy them down even more, and her hand delvesinto my boxers. Suddenly impatient, I kick off the rest of my clothes at the same time.
She’s silent as her hand works me almost too gently, but I don't move. There's something about this, the way she's acting. I think she needs the control, so I'm going to let her do whatever she wants. I don't tell her that, though, because I know her, and she might start to overthink and then get lost in her own head.
When her hand falters, I open my eyes to look at her. She suddenly seems a little uncertain. It's not often she takes the reins like this. My eyes are soft. I don't challenge her.
'You're gorgeous,' I murmur.
