“I move.”
“If I tell you to run—”
“I run.”
His jaw tightens. “Good.”
I look through the windshield at the docks. My hands are cold. Strange, since the afternoon sun is glaring through the glass and heat is gathering inside the SUV. But my fingers feel dipped in ice.
“Cole?”
His eyes stay on the marina. “Yeah?”
“If I freeze, don’t be gentle.”
That gets his attention. He looks at me then, and the expression on his face is not pity or fear. It’s something harder and softer at the same time.
“I’ll get you moving,” he says.
I nod. Because I believe him. He’s the only thing in the world that feels solid right now.
Sloane appears near the hood of our SUV, sunglasses on, one hand on his ear. Cole lowers the window.
“South slips,” he says. “Rafi has her phone stationary near Dock C. Eli has two deputies covering the marina exit. Harbor patrol is blocking water exit without making it obvious.”
“Visual?” Cole asks.
“Not yet.”
That changes one second later. A voice comes through Sloane’s earpiece, tinny and urgent. His head turns toward the docks.
Then I see her. Vanessa.
For a moment, my mind refuses to understand the shape of her in this place. She is not supposed to belong here, standing near the end of Dock C in a pale sundress and a ball cap, oversized sunglasses hiding half her face. Her red-brown hairis tucked back in a messy knot. A tote bag hangs from one shoulder.
She looks like any woman heading out for an afternoon boat ride. She looks like my best friend. My lungs forget how to work.
“There,” I whisper.
Cole sees her too. Everything about him changes. He becomes more still, more focused and dangerous. His body has narrowed down to one purpose, and I realize with a sharp, painful clarity that Vanessa was right about one thing.
Cole is dangerous. Just not to me.
Sloane moves first, crossing the lot at an angle that looks casual until Eli appears at the far end of the dock and one of the harbor patrol officers steps out near the fuel station.
Her body goes rigid. Then her gaze snaps to the windshield … to me. Even through her sunglasses, I feel the impact.
My phone is not in my hands. My real phone is still sealed in evidence. Cole’s phone is in his pocket. Sloane’s people are everywhere. There is no open line between Vanessa and me anymore.
So she lifts her hand and waves. It’s a small, familiar motion, like she is waiting outside a restaurant, and I’m late for lunch.
I reach for the door handle.
Cole turns instantly. “No.”
“She sees me.”
“That doesn’t mean you go to her.”
