My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
The fire snaps sharply, and this time I do flinch.
Mario sees it, but he does not reach for me.
“I read it,” I say.
“I believe you believe that.”
My head lifts. “Do not do that.”
“I am not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are. You’re making it sound like I imagined it.”
“I am telling you what I know.”
“And I’m telling you what I saw,” I say, upset. “I may be—”
Pregnant. I may be pregnant, but I’m not crazy.
His gaze holds mine for a long second.
“Where did you find it?” His voice is very careful.
“Online.”
“Specifically.”
“I don’t know the URLs off the top of my head,” I say, snippy. “I searched your name, and Hawthorne, and Anna. I bookmarked a dozen things.”
“You bookmarked them?”
“Yes, on my laptop.” I sit up straighter despite the exhaustion pulling at every part of me.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Your laptop is at your apartment?”
“Yes.”
He pulls his phone out and starts typing rapidly.
The abruptness steals my breath.
“Mario—”
“I’ll have someone bring it here.”
A ridiculous panic rises in me, sharp and practical and completely out of place.
“Wait.” He stops typing and lifts just his eyes to me. I don’t know what I want him to wait for. “Um. My key is in my purse. I don't know where it is right now.”
For the first time since he walked into this room, something almost like amusement touches his mouth.
“Your key,” he repeats. Yup, definitely amused.
“Yes,” I say primly. “A key. The thing you use to open locked doors.”
His mouth curves a little more, and God help me, after everything that has happened, after guns and lies and blood and fear, that tiny hint of amusement almost makes me cry.
