Thatcher looks at my ponytail. My sneakers. My mouth. There’s a slight frown on his face when he makes eye contact again.
“If you could give me your number, Miss Lee,” Thatcher licks the tip of his pencil. “It’ll make scheduling a chat much easier.”
“No phone, remember?” I practically yell.
There’s so much adrenaline pumping through me, I could jump out a window and just bob away over the treetops.
Thatcher shrugs, giving Bastian a ‘whatcha-gonna-do’ look as he pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to me. I throw the deputy a quick wave, ignoring Bastian’s tilted head and narrowed eyes, and limp away down the hall as fast as I can.
“Better not leave the state, Miss Lee,” Thatcher calls after me.
I swing my head back to look at him. Is that hard staremeantto give me the fucking heebie-jeebies, or is that just a happy coincidence for him?
Then he gives me the briefest flash of a smile, and I realize he’s joking. Or attempting to joke, anyway. I don’t think it comes naturally to him.
He reaches down and strokes the clasp on his holster, as if to check if his gun is still there. An innocent gesture, probably just a habit. But it feels intentional, like the threat he tried to pass off as a joke is, in fact, a threat.
That can’t be good.
I make the mistake of glancing over at Bastian for some kind of confirmation that I’m imagining this shit, but he treats me to a billion megawatt glare instead.
Oh boy.
Professor Rooke didn’t rescue me out of the goodness of his heart. He’s going to expect some kind of compensation. Not just for saving me, but for abandoning him. For threatening him.
Even through all this, the thought makes my insides clench.
“Mind out of the gutter, you freak,” I mutter to myself as I stagger down the stairs.
My heart’s clanging in my throat by the time I reach the bottom of the staircase. I kept expecting one of them to come after me, to demand I stay.
Not sure which scares me more.
The thought of being confronted by the cop…or my professor.
Chapter 67
Bastian
“Slippery eel that one,” Deputy Thatcher says, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares after Haven. “These kids see a badge and they clam right up.”
“Look, Detective?—”
“Deputy.”
I briefly squeeze my eyes closed.
How can I forget when you keep fucking correcting me?
“Any idea what happened to her foot?”
“None whatsoever. Now, I’m sure you have more important work to get to than?—“
“Oh, thisisimportant.” He glances behind him, dismissing the crime scene tape dangling from Haven’s bedroom door with a flick of his eyes. “Not this.”
Ice percolates through my veins.
“Notthis?” I ask lightly.
