Sharp jawline.
Five o’clock shadow.
But the only way I’d see so much is if… his phone lit up with my text.
THIRTY-SIX
NEVE
“Have you ever worked for a client in Buffalo?” I ask my brother, cupping my gloved hand over my phone. Snowflakes spin from the dark sky. When I first moved to Ontario from North Carolina, the winter was a shock. I couldn’t drive in it, could barely walk in it, and, much to Nolan’s amusement since he lives in Manhattan, I didn’t own a winter coat.
Now, I’m snug in a red Canada Goose, thick, fur-lined gloves, and boots that are both pretty and practical. That last one took me a while to find.
Nolan snorts through the phone.
Tonight’s psych seminar was less aggressive emotionally than last week; a case study on resilient parenting, which is much more optimistic than thinking the guy who gave you an orgasm might be a psychopath.
Or the one who held you up while your knees trembled was scratching softly at your door while he texted you whispered promises to keep you safe.
He never responded to my question.
And I never opened the door.
It’s been a few days now, and I can’t get the image of his beautiful face illuminated from his phone out of my head.
I haven’t seen Faust nor Sylvan, but Faust—ignoring my question—asked if he could take me out Halloween night, after the home game.
What are you doing, Neve?I should block his number. Maybe speak to Detective Lincoln; tell him that if Faust isn’t a murderer, at the very least, he’s in the habit of stalking women he barely knows.
But I haven’t.And why haven’t you, Neve?The therapist inside my head is ruthless.
I’m canceling her appointment.
Speaking of therapy… I’ve not had to deal with Tasia at all since the weekend, although Karter and I exchanged numbers before me and Cyn left her place, and Karter wants to do something with us Saturday night. Considering her soft spot for the girl, I’m sure that will involve Tas.
I’ve been meaning to ask Cynthia how she seems in her pottery course since the weekend, but Cyn has been spending the last few mornings skipping class with Tylone, so there’s not been a lot of time to catch up.
And it’s also why I never told her about the stalker at our door.
Is it, though? Or is it to protect him?
“Where is this coming from?” My brother asks from the phone as I jerk my chin in Edmond’s direction. He’s walked by my side until our paths divert. His on one side of the library, mine on the other.
He waves and I smile, but my focus is on Nolan.
I haven’t told him I was called into the station. Still haven’t told Cyn Will came to our place. It feels like I’m vaguely lying to everyone. Including a fucking cop.
Still no suspects in the murders, but the next big thing has happened on social media—a snow streaker at U of T—and no one is talking about the bodies found anymore.
Typical. We now all have the attention span of a half-dead gnat.
“Just curious since it’s so close to me. If you had a client there, we could meet up.”
“You loathe driving on the highway,” Nolan snipes in a deadpan tone. “And if you want to see me, you know I’d come in a heartbeat.” His voice takes on a softer, smoother edge.
I shrug, unseen by him as I kick some of the salt on the brick walkway with my boot. “Maybe I want to try the highway again.”
“You don’t.”
