Page 62 of Burning For You

“I don’t know what it is. She’s not your blood. She was someone I had my eye on long before she became your sister. Do I think she’s hot? Yep, I do.” He put his sandwich down, trying to keep this conversation as calm as he could, but it wasn’t helping any with that look. “Get that pissed off glance out of your eyes.”

“She’s my sister.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked. “You think this isn’t hard for me too?”

He ran his hand through his hair and took another drink to wash down his food that didn’t want to go.

“What is your plan?”

“I don’t have a fucking plan. I never do.”

“That’s right. You don’t. That’s the problem.”

“I’m not that person anymore. And if you want to know my plan, it’s sticking by her. One, to keep her safe and in her ear so I can find out what her moves are. Do you think she’s going to tell you and your brothers?”

Corbin met his stare head on. “No.”

“That’s right. So I’ll be there for that reason. And maybe for the support she needs. She’s an adult. If I’m just a friend, then I guess I’ll have to accept that. I’ve done it once, I can do it again.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Corbin said, laughing. “Now you want me to get my violin out, don’t you?”

He laughed. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Don’t mess her up. I heard you. I don’t really like it, but I can’t argue your logic. She’ll confide in you, maybe. Or more likely than she would us. And I can’t forget how much you talked about her prior either.”

“That’s right.”

“But if you hurt her...”

He held his hand up. “Enough said.”

17

HAVING THAT GUILT

“Mom.” She was pacing in her apartment three hours later. Not an easy feat either with as small as the place was. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“Skye. Just communicating in the first place was stupid.”

“I’m not one to shy away from anything.” She ignored her mother’s snort. “And for all I knew it was someone lying about who they were. They still could be.”

“That’s right. All the more reason to ignore it.”

“It’s my job to follow up on leads.”

“Don’t give me that crap. Your job is to turn gibberish into readable material for the common person. Maybe it’s boring.”

“It is.”

“But it’s safe,” her mother argued.

“Being a freelance reporter is safe too,” she said. “For the most part.”

“Really?” The sarcasm coming through the phone almost peeled her skin back. “You think it’s safe to race to the scene of some fire at all hours of the day and night?”

“I’m not racing anywhere.”

“I taught you how to drive. You are.”