Chapter Thirty-Seven
MADELINE
Fingers thread through my hair gently, tracing the strands. I hear and feel Luke’s body take a deep breath. Is he smelling my hair? It’s hard to keep my face relaxed while pretending to be asleep. Then lips, soft and warm, press to my shoulder, my collarbone, and the curve of my jaw. Each one is unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to explore every inch of me. As though we’re in our own little cocoon and all of the outside noise doesn’t matter.
I keep my eyes closed for a few more seconds, then I let them flutter open, staring at the vaulted ceiling with a completely straight face.
“You’re escalating,” I say, my voice filled with sleep. “First watching me sleep. Now this. Should I worry?”
Luke lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. He’s propped up on one elbow, shirtless, the sheet low on his hips. He looks almost sweet. Almost.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and serious. “You should worry. I am.”
I fight it. I really do. But the corner of my mouth twitches, and I lose the battle, a smile breaking through. “No one would ever believe me,” I say, rolling toward him, my hand coming upto trace the stubble on his jaw. “That Luke Locke is like a teddy bear on the inside.”
He catches my wrist, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there, his expression shifting to something darker, hungrier. “You do make me growl a lot.”
I burst into laughter, the sound loud and unexpected in the quiet room. He silences me with a deep and thorough kiss, and by the time he pulls back, I’m breathless and a little dizzy—almost forgetting about everything else.
Almost.
A sudden thought hits me.
“Luke.” I push against his chest, not that he goes anywhere. “The girl. Twenty years ago.”
“What?” His playful mood falls away.
“Bennett said it or the cops told him, or whatever.‘We haven’t had something like this since twenty years ago,’” I say, sitting up. Luke gives me room. I clutch the sheet to my chest. “Who was she? What happened to her?”
Luke sits up too, running a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing. “I don’t... I was a kid. I wasn’t even here.” Right, he doesn’t even really live here. I forget that at times. Hell, what happens to us when school is over?
Okay, now is not the time to be thinking of that. There is enough going on, I don’t need to be adding additional stress.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feeling for my clothes from yesterday. I pull my shirt over my head, my voice rising. “I’m talking about the pattern. If this happened before—if someone died twenty years ago the same way—then it’s not random.” I meet his eyes. “What if it’s the same person? What if they’ve been here the whole time?”
“A pattern is more than two.”
I pause. “I get that, but still. What are the odds of two women?” I hold up my fingers and wiggle them. “In a small town being chopped up and tossed in the lake?”
“If I believed what I see on TV, then yeah. It’s common.” I roll my eyes, but I can’treallydisagree. “But yeah, I’m getting what you’re putting down.”
“You think your brother knows who it is?” He wasn’t here twenty years ago either.
Luke stands, pulling on his jeans. “We can ask him. If he doesn’t, I’m sure we can figure it out.” I smile and walk over to him. He’s not shutting me down. Luke has been that way from the start.
“Thank you,” I tell him, placing my hands on his chest.
“For what?”
“For doing all this with me.”
“Don’t have much of a choice.” He lets out a low chuckle.
“You do.”
“No, Buttercup, I don’t. If you’re in, I’m in. That’s how it goes.” I could get really used to this whole boyfriend thing. His giant comfy bed and shower too. “Let’s finish getting ready, and we’ll go ask. The sooner this shit is done, the sooner I’ll be able to breathe again.” He runs a hand down his face.
“The sooner I can run around without being tracked.”
