Helen and I seem to be on the same page about continuing things…for now. But I’m not delusional enough to think that there won’t be a hard transition back into normal life. It’s one thing to have two such polar opposites, who are attracted to each other and in close proximity, act on their hormones. But when Helen goes back to working at the library, I wonder if my life of late nights and weekends and weird hours will start to seem lessexcitingand moreinconvenient.
I manage to shake the thought as Helen reappears. I’m a little sad, and a little relieved, to see her in clothing more substantial than the too-small bikini and fishnet dress. I’m pretty sure that the memory of what she looked like on the deck of that boat will be the last thing I remember before I die, but this outfit looks much more like her usual style. Plus, it will make it way easier to concentrate, if we are about to be ambushed by mobsters.
Helen grins at the sight of me. “A part of me thought you’d go without me, for sure.”
Feigning innocence, I point back to my chest with my thumbs. “Who, me?”
“If anything,” Helen muses as we make our way to the door, “it should be me going without you, since the note said to come alone.” At the look on my face, she laughs. “Don’t worry—even I’m not naive enough to fall for that one. I’m just saying, as a matter of principle, if anyone’s going on their own?—”
I silence her by pushing her up against the wall—not hard, but with purpose—holding her in place with my body as I catch her gaze with mine. “How about from now on, we both agree that we’re in this together?”
I mean that for much more than just finding Dean. I hope she knows that. I hope she can hear it in my tone, see it in my eyes.
Helen blinks at me in surprise, then tilts her head, studying me. For a long moment, we just gaze at one another, holding an entire conversation without saying anything at all.
“Okay,” she says at last. “I can agree to that.”
Chapter 40
Helen
I’m weirdly nervous to finally find Dean. And not because I think it might be a trap, like Thad clearly seems to. He’s being even grimmer than usual, all no-nonsense and power shoulders as he walks, his eyes missing no detail in the hallway or elevator. He can’t seem to decide if it’s safer for him to walk behind or in front of me and keeps alternating positions, sometimes angling in front of me with his shoulder, other times staying close behind me, always restless.
I’m weirdlynotnervous to have Thad this close to me. I’m not questioning what we mean to each other. I’m not worried that we won’t see each other again after we’ve found Dean. I’m not worried about how I should be acting or if I should be playing it cool or if I should be giving him encouragement or any of the other things I expected to be feeling. It’s like something has shifted into place, and we simply fit together now. We’re a package deal.
At last we reach room 508. Thad is on even higher alert now, his gaze moving up to the ceiling, down the corridor to one side, then to the other, all while somehow still managing to keep an eye on me and the door. “You’d better knock,” he says at last. “So if it is Dean, he can see you in the peephole.”
I can tell it’s killing him to make this concession, so I do my best to smile at him and avoid the urge to give him a somewhat condescending pat on the cheek. “It’s going to be fine,” I tell him quietly, reaching up to rap sharply on the door.
“You don’t know that,” he grumbles. Aww, there’s my little raincloud. He’s been so cheerful this last hour that it almost felt like I was with a different person.
“I feel it,” I tell him back sweetly, and I can tell he’s shaking his head behind me without even having to see it.
“Shefeelsit. Huh.”
Whatever diatribe he might have been building up gets interrupted as the door cracks open. “Helen?”
I recognize my brother’s voice instantly. We may not have spoken regularly in quite some time, but you don’t forget the voice of the boy who’s called you Princess Bubble Butt for most of your life. “Dean!”
The door opens a little wider, and I see my brother’s eyes, glaring at me through the shadows. “I told you to come alone.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Okay, yes, he’s on the run from the mafia, but if he thinks he can boss me around, he has another thing coming. “Stop being melodramatic and let us in.”
He does, hurrying us inside and slamming the door behind him, locking it before turning to face us. He looks exactly like the Dean I’ve always known, while simultaneously looking like a stranger. His hair is longer, and he has facial hair now, which is new. So are the tattoos on his arms. It’s a weird look for a kid who used to be an altar boy and whose voice didn’t change from its beautiful falsetto until he was thirteen. If I didn’t know him, I might be afraid of him.
But I do know him, and I’m not. “Are you okay?” Ignoring his tough-guy glare, I pull him into a hug. “Mom is really worried about you. I can’t believe you’re on the run from the mafia. I can’t believe you’re hiding out in New Orleans. What are you doing here?”
“What areyoudoing here?” he counters in his deep voice that I suspect he pitches even lower than it needs to be, after years of being confused with me on the phone. That stopped a long time ago, of course, but it seems to have left a mark. “And why the hell did I get this tonight?”
He shows me a picture on his phone, and I’m surprised to see it’s ofme, from earlier tonight on the Carolina Belle, wearing my black fishnet dress. Whoever took the picture of me took it when I wasn’t paying attention, looking off somewhere else. I feel uneasy knowing that someone was paying that close of attention to me without me noticing—but also, if I’m being honest, I can’t help but notice how sexy I look in that outfit. Dang, Sister Helen! No wonder Thad couldn’t keep his hands off me.
Thad steps forward, taking Dean’s phone without permission. He studies the picture for a moment, looking equally grim as he meets my gaze. “Someone on the boat recognized you. Which means we probably don’t have long.” He looks at Dean. “We need to get you back into custody.”
Dean scoffs. “Not gonna happen.”
I put my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “Yes, gonna happen. The mafia is on your trail, Dean. I nearly got kidnapped in an Alabama gas station because of you. They know you’re here.”
“Wait, what?” Dean doesn’t seem to know what to process first, but settles on, “You were almost kidnapped? Are you okay?”
