“Of what?” she asked.
I looked toward the window. The engine kept running below.
“Leaving before I had to ask for anything.”
Her fingers loosened against the sheet, then tightened again.
“I’m still getting in that vehicle, Nick.”
“I know.”
“And this still does not solve anything.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes searched my face with the sort of attention that made a man want legal representation.
“And?” she asked.
I exhaled through my nose. The room smelled of her skin, my soap, old smoke from the lodge fire, and the metallic edge of dried blood trapped beneath fresh gauze.
“I can get you out clean,” I said. “That part I know.”
The line of her throat shifted when she swallowed.
“And the part you don’t?”
My hand curled around the radio until the plastic casing pressed into my palm.
“Letting you leave without making it my idea.”
The room gave us one thin second of quiet.
Then, outside, the engine revved again.
Juliette nodded once, as if I had given her a fact she could file. Her face did not soften. That would have been easier to survive.
“Then stop making it your idea,” she said.
I almost laughed. It died before it became sound.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
“There she is.”
A breath moved out of her, close enough to amusement to be dangerous. “Don't disappear into the job the second I’m gone.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Try harder.” She pushed the sheet aside and reached for the clothes folded over the bench. “And Nick?”
I paused.
“Don’t give people maybe when you already know the answer.”
My fingers tightened on the radio again.
