“Yeah.” He shrugs and opens his water with a twist. It’s ridiculous that I notice the way his bicep flexes, but I do.
“Don’t you know girls don’t like being called cute?” I tease.
“I didn’t call you cute. You are beautiful. I called the saying cute.”
“Oh, you’re a smooth talker.” I smile, flattered even though I’m acting like I’m unaffected.
“Smooth or not, it’s the truth, but Harlyn…” He pauses for only a breath then adds, “I also think you’re cute. Adorable, in fact.”
I titter like a high school girl getting hit on by an older boy for the first time. It’s embarrassing. “Stop trying to make me forget why I can’t go home with you.”
“You can and will. No, youarecoming home with me. How’s that?”
“Boone…” I sigh, wishing I could forget how it felt to drive past John draped in a sheet on an ambulance gurney. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”
“It wouldn’t be because of you. None of this is your fault, but I will be fine. I’m also going to make damn sure you are too, so whether it’s my house, a safe house, or a hotel room, which wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable, you will be with me. This will go much easier if you just accept it.”
“Just accept it. Is that what I tell your mom and sisters if something does happen? What about your coworkers and the people who care about you?”
“My family knows what I do and how dangerous it is. Are you saying you can’t accept it?”
This question feels deeper than just this moment, like he’s asking if I can live with knowing that he hunts serial killers every day, and that the danger for Boone won’t end when he finds whoever killed Hayzel. Can I?
“Now boarding flight A37 to Reagan National,” comes over the loudspeaker. Boone’s face falls at my silence, and I know my answer.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?” I could be imagining the hopeful glint in his eyes, but I don’t think I am.
“Yes, I would accept it because I know that’s the only way I could—”Have you, I think, but I don’t have the courage to say it out loud.
Boone slides his fingers between mine, and that’s how we walk to the boarding area.
Boone
The second I take my phone off airplane mode, dozens of messages and calls fill the screen. I knew I would be coming home to a bigger shit show than the one I left in Michigan, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it.
I shoot Mickey a text first and let her know I will call her to fill her in as soon as I get somewhere with a bit of privacy, and that will be a little while since I need to have this conversation away from Harlyn. I already know Mickey isn’t going to be happy, but I don’t need Harlyn to know that. She will blame herself, and she has more than enough to deal with already.
“I thought it would be bigger.” Harlyn’s comment, something no man ever wants to hear in any context, pulls my attention from my phone while we’re waiting on my luggage. She’s gazing around the airport, and I understand her statement. Reagan feels small compared to a lot of other airports, but it still handles a good deal of traffic.
“Never been to D.C.?”
“No. Hayzel came with the debate club or something when we were in high school, but I didn’t.”
“Debate club, huh? Are you telling me you don’t like to argue?” I tease.
She turns slowly to face me, her expression set in a mask of innocence that wouldn’t fool anyone. “Me? Argue? Never.” She exaggerates her response with enough sugar to rival even my mother’s tea.
If we weren’t in a crowded baggage line, I would kiss her. She must sense the shift in my thoughts, because her features soften as I stare at her.
“What?” Her question is spoken quietly, almost shyly, but shy isn’t a word I would use for Harlyn. She’s too sure of herself for that.
“You.”
“Me what?” She tilts her head.
“You are going to get me in trouble,” I tease, but her curious grin falls.
