Page 168 of The Darkest Chase

I mean. Fucking maybe?

I had a brother once. I thought I loved him.

It’s not like my father ever loved me, though there were times when if I was good enough, obedient enough, he’d give me little scraps of affection. Just enough to reel me in so I wouldn’t be on my guard when he turned dark and violent again.

So maybe she’s right.

Maybe I do think love involves keeping score, whatever people think they can take from each other. I think love is earned.

Even with Jet, it was always counting who took the most bruises, whose turn it was to hurt. Just as toxic and fucked up as it sounds.

Right on cue, I look up at the branch overhanging the corner of my roof. They’re back again, three overstuffed crows staring down.

One of them throws back its head and lets out an angry squawk.

Goddamn you, enough.

Focus on the mission.

Focus on Jet.

I’m so close.

That’s why I stuff those dark thoughts down, ignore the birds, and eye Talia.

“I just know my dog and what he’ll do for a good chew.” Keep it cool. I open the car door and step out. “Let’s go.”

She follows me quietly.

She’s probably rethinking this, and I don’t blame her.

It’ll be easier if she starts pulling away from me now so it won’t hurt so much later.

Maybe this is how it ends, like a flower wilting without water.

Why does my chest hurt like hell, then?

Cursing in my head, I unlock the door to the house.

We barely make it inside before Rolf comes barreling over, jumping up to lick my face.

“Hey, old man.” I give him a quick squeeze—I’d never admit it’s comforting, giving me an anchor right now—before letting go so he can pounce on Talia next.

She catches him with a squeal, bursting into laughter as she buries her face in his thick ruff and scratches him all over. The two of them are practically in a wrestling contest.

And it makes that cramp in my chest worse, seeing them like that. My goddamned prickly, possessive dog fucking loves this woman.

I hate that I’m starting to wonder if I do, too.

I firmly push those thoughts away and pivot, leaving them in the entryway to enjoy their lovefest while I take a detour to the kitchen.

My laptop’s on the breakfast island. I settle down on a chair and flip it open so I can pull up the cloud hosting service where Brian Newcomb kept his accounts, then I fish out the paper with the passwords Ariana gave me. I type in his email address from memory and try the first potential password.

No luck.

I’m on the third try by the time I hear Rolf’s nails clicking and the soft clack of Talia’s shoes against the kitchen tile.

She comes up behind me, peering over my shoulder, her soft vanilla-spice scent drifting over me. Rolf props his head on my thigh, looking up at me beseechingly. I let one hand fall, rubbing his head while I try number four.

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