My skin prickles.
“I need time,” I say. “I can get the upper hand.”
“How?”
“By letting her trust me,” I say—and I hate how it sounds like tenderness. “By making her think I want what she wants.”
“And what does she want?”
“Me,” I say simply. “Access. Attention. A sisterhood fantasy.”
Blake nods. “So you give her a taste.”
I exhale. “Yes.”
He watches me. “And if she really is The Watcher?”
“Then she’s sloppy,” I say, but my voice wobbles. “She wouldn’t show her hand like that.”
Blake glances toward the window, toward the washed-out town. “Unless she wanted you to know.”
I stare at him. “Why would she want that?”
He looks back at me. “Because fear makes people interesting.”
My mouth goes dry.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse.
Blake smiles without warmth. “I’m documenting it.”
“Same thing,” I mutter.
His phone buzzes on the counter. He checks it, then looks at me. “You want me to stay tonight?”
I should say no. Send him back to the motel. Keep my boundaries. Keep my walls.
But Iris’s eyes are still in my head. That look that saidI know you.That look that threatened without trying.
“I want you here,” I say.
Blake’s smile softens. “Okay.”
I hate that part of me relaxes. I hate that I need anything from anyone.
I turn away before he can see it too clearly.
“We do nothing,” I say. “Not yet.”
Blake nods. “Not yet.”
“And if you try to play hero?—”
He lifts his hands. “I won’t.”
I glance back. “Promise.”
He meets my eyes. “I promise.”
