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Her hands gripping my shoulders.

The little sound she made when I rolled her beneath me.

Then I remember that I stopped.

Possibly the dumbest fucking decision of my life.

Definitely the right one.

I pull through a rusted gate and kill the engine beside the old garage.

Clara takes off her helmet. “This is it?”

“This is it.”

She looks around.

The Hale property hasn’t changed much. Old hunting cabin. Garage. Twenty acres of mountain woods my grandfather bought before Devil’s Peak became a place rich people came to pretend they liked nature.

“You grew up here?”

“Weekends.”

“Doing what?”

“Getting into trouble.”

“I’m shocked.”

I take her helmet.

She smiles. That smile has become a problem too.

“You going to tell me what kind?”

“No.”

“Illegal?”

“Usually.”

“Girls involved?”

“Sometimes.”

Her smile disappears.

I step closer. “Jealous, librarian?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t care what you did with women fifteen years ago.”

“Closer to fourteen.”

“That was disturbingly specific.”