She looked like she wanted to argue. Instead, she sat back and nodded. “I’ll let it go for now,” she said. “I know there’s a lot you’re not telling me. That’s only going to work for so long. You realize that, right?”
“I do,” I said, aware there was a clock ticking. I wouldn’t be able to hold Sylvie at arm’s length indefinitely. She was right when she’d said that this was her case too.
But I didn’t know what to make of that cryptic clue in the envelope. I had no idea what Silas was trying to tell me. And until I did, I was keeping it from Sylvie.
We’d only been on the highway a few minutes when she leaned forward, wrestled her way out of her coat, balled it up into a pillow, and took a nap. Leaving me stuck in my head, running over all the permutations I could think of to explain the post office box, the clue, the why of it all. I didn’t miss the fact that while I was frustrated at everything Silas hadn’t told us, I was doing the exact same thing to Sylvie, keeping her on a need-to-know basis, having decided she needed to know almost nothing.
Sylvie couldn’t know any of it, not yet.
Right?
I kept assuring myself that my keeping her in the dark was necessary.
But is it really?
Maybe she was new on the scene, but she had just as much skin in the game as anyone else. More, if I was being honest with myself. Someone wasn’t trying to blow me up. I hadn’t lost everything I owned. My career wasn’t on the line. All of that was true for Sylvie. I owed her more than half-truths.
The time I spent driving back to Atlanta that wasn’t used trying to figure out what the fuck Silas was up to—and whether he needed an assist or I just needed to be patient—was spent trying to convince myself that I didn’t owe Sylvie any more than I’d already given her.
I didn’t get very far on either front.
Chapter Fifteen
ELI
It was evening when we got back to the Sinclair Security building. Most of the vehicles in the underground garage were gone. We went straight to the safe house apartment to find a labeled casserole in a disposable aluminum pan in the refrigerator.
Alice. I’d asked for help with dinner, and she’d come through. The note read:Stick this in the oven at 350 for 45 minutes. I recognized the label on the lid of the casserole dish as coming from a restaurant around the corner that, among other things, did family-style takeout. Perfect.
I threw it in the oven while Sylvie disappeared down the hall to take a shower, saying she needed to wash off the day. I knew what she meant. I hadn’t been looking forward to going back to Hollow Creek, but I hadn’t expected the day to carry so much weight. Stupid, in retrospect—how could it not?
Of course, it would sit heavy on my heart. Still, I wanted to push that away, to pretend.No big deal, I’ve got this. I didn’t want to feel the heavy press of it. I wanted to be Eli, to find my way back to the man I was day-to-day. Ithad been thirteen years, after all. I didn’t grieve every moment of every day. But today—today that was beyond me. I wanted to eat and sleep and leave this day behind me. All of it. Except Sylvie.
The way she’d seamlessly played the part with the neighbor, telling her a story of a couple looking for a rental. Then, the flush in her cheeks when Miss Carmody had recognized her voice—the sincere, flattered joy in connecting with a fan who loved the thing Sylvie loved doing. The light in her eyes, the way she’d leaned across the counter, telling secrets that had made Miss Carmody’s day.
And later, the way she’d come to wrap her arms around me at the graveside. We both knew I never would have asked. I could barely admit to myself that I needed her touch, her support. But I had. Maybe I hadn’t even known how much until she was there, holding me until I was ready to go.
Everything was so much more complicated than I’d expected. And while part of me wanted to shift life, Sylvie, and myself back to where we’d been a few days ago, the rest of me wanted to lean in.
Not to the mystery, necessarily. I’d just as soon know exactly what the fuck was going on with Silas, whether he needed an assist or was fine out there on his own. But Sylvie? That was an entirely different story. Because while I would happily rewind to before her van exploded, I couldn’t regret her showing up at our offices. I would unravel so much of the last few days—but not her.
And I had to figure out what to do about that, because I didn’t have my head so far up my own ass that I couldn’t see the pit I was about to fall into.
I wanted her, and I wanted to keep her at arm’s length. I couldn’t have both. Not for long. But that was a problemfor later. For now, I just had to get through the rest of the day.
Sylvie came back down the hall wearing a matching set of cotton knit pajamas, the legs loose around her feet. The front of the T-shirt saidLET ME SLEEPwith a sketch of closed eyes. More sleeping eyes decorated the pants’ legs. Her hair streamed over her shoulders, the cinnamon color dampened to dark brown, clumps of waves curling at the ends.
The pajamas were designed for comfort, but I couldn’t stop staring.
“Smells good,” she said. “What is it?”
“Chicken cordon bleu casserole,” I said, forcing my eyes away, “from a place around the corner.”
“Awesome. Beer?”
I nodded, and she moved past me to pull two bottles out of the fridge, grabbing the opener from the utensil drawer and popping the tops. She handed me one and leaned back against the counter, taking a long drink.
“I needed that,” she said after she swallowed.
