Page 112 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

There may be no going back from this.

Paul Monroe is about to have a very good day.

“Do you want me to go with you?” I ask.

She looks at me, hesitates, then shakes her head. “No. I’ll go alone. It’ll…” A hard nod. “It’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t believe that.

Neither do I.

29

KATRINA

Ipark in the circle drive outside Botsford Manor, pulling in behind Knox’s car. The others are already here, too; their vehicles lined up one-by-one ahead of me.

Yeah. This’ll be fine.

I unhook my seatbelt and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. I’ve showered, dressed, made myself presentable, but something about me still feels...different. I search my own eyes, waiting to see a shift, a crack in the familiar, but no. It’s still me. The same old Katrina.

Except I’m not.

They’ll see it. They’ll know.

Because Iamdifferent.

Logan, I love you.

That’s what I was going to say before Tesla and Goldie crashed in. The thought sends a warmth through me, alighting the same way it did this morning when I woke up wrapped in his arms.

I hold on to that feeling, steeling myself against the storm I’m walking into. No matter what happens, I can always find my way back to him.

I climb out of the car and head around the manor toward the guest house.

The doors are wide open when I arrive. Inside, bodies move—Knox and Bronson setting up our instruments, focused and efficient. Addison sits with her white electric guitar, headphones covering her ears as she tunes it with practiced precision. Jordan sits at a table to the side, talking into her phone, her clipboard flat on top.

She looks up when I step in.

Her expression doesnotinspire confidence.

Yeah.

I’m in trouble.

“Hey, Kat,” Bronson says, his voice cutting through the awkwardness.

Everyone pauses what they’re doing and looks at me.

I swallow hard. “Hey, guys.”

Jordan hangs up and rises from her chair. “Hey,” she says, too carefully, her smile more peace keeper today than usual. “How are you?”

Knox snorts.

Jordan shoots him a look, but he just turns away, grabbing a microphone cable off the couch nearby.

“I’m good,” I answer.

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