Page 47 of The Saint

The power had returned sometime after Amelia somehow fell asleep the second time. The struggle was real. If insomnia had been hard to deal with at home in her condo, it was damn near impossible to manage with a shirtless Camden sleeping in the same house. She could still feel the kiss he’d placed on her forehead. She’d gone her entire life without sparks exploding in her lungs like glittering fireworks—all that from a chaste good night kiss.

Well, it wasn’t that chaste. Had she really asked him to stay? Embarrassed heat rushed up her neck and swallowed her whole.

Daylight would cast an awkward blanket over them. Amelia didn’t want to go downstairs and face reality or the dead-sexy man she’d semi-propositioned during a middle-of-the-night conversation. Her cheeks burned. He deserved to be canonized if he didn’t breathe a word.

Amelia took a few minutes to procrastinate, snooping through the bathroom and closet, then she readied for the day, dressing and tying her hair into a loose, low bun. After another scrutinizing glance in the mirror—nothing could be done about the dark circles that had taken permanent residence under her eyes—she crept downstairs.

The heavenly scent of coffee met her. She scanned the living room. A pillow and blanket were folded at the end of the leather couch. Amelia inched farther away from the stairs and saw Camden hunched over his phone with a pen in one hand as he jotted notes on a small pad of paper.

“Good morning.” She beelined for the coffeemaker and the mug he’d set out for her. She could feel his gaze. The last night replayed in her mind a thousand times for every step she took.

“There’s tea bags in the cabinet if that’s what you prefer.”

“Coffee packs more of a caffeine punch.” She poured a cup, still not hazarding a glance at his face. “Pretty sure I won’t function today without it.” Slowly, she turned around. That intense, soul-searching gaze of his was locked on her.Good God.His scrutiny was far more like a smolder. “Did you sleep okay on the couch?”

“I can sleep anywhere.”

“I seem to have the opposite problem.” She opened the fridge and found it mostly empty. Behind her, Camden walked across the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and held out two plastic bottles: sugar and shelf-stable creamer. She took both. “Thanks.”

He remained nearby as she doctored her coffee. “Any more nightmares?”

Nervous heat crawled up her neck. “Nope.”

She girded herself for a serious talk. Camden would set ground rules. The biggest one should’ve been a no-brainer: She shouldn’t have asked him to stay with her.Stayhadn’t been specific. She could have just meant in the room, on the far side of the bed. But with all the energy bouncing between them, what she’d said had beena lot.

“That’s good.” He returned to his place at the breakfast bar, a complete gentleman who didn’t mention a peep about anything from the previous night. “There are protein and granola bars in there.” He gestured at a pantry door. “Oatmeal and a couple other add-water-and-heat options.”

The butterflies in her stomach didn’t think that was a great idea. They stormed around like metalheads in a mosh pit. Still, she went through the motions of making apple cinnamon oatmeal. As she moved to the microwave, Camden grabbed the football from the counter. He paced. Her butterflies rioted. The microwave beeped, and Amelia retrieved her breakfast and watched him pace. His forehead was tight. His eyes weredowncast. Each toss of the football was executed from muscle memory. She wasn’t sure he realized he was even holding the thing.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Camden turned and clapped a hand over the ball. His long fingers flexed into the leather. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Well, hell.Not only did he not want to talk about last night, he wanted her to meet someone, perhaps a shrink. After everything she’d been through, a mental health checkup probably wasn’t a bad idea, but she wasn’t sure any therapist would believe a single word she said. Maybethatwas why she’d poured her soul to Camden. She needed an outlet, and he knew the truth.

“Why are you making that face?” He lifted the football to his shoulder and, with a get-ready gesture, waited for her to raise her hands. “Catch.”

She caught the soft pass. “Do you want me to see a psychologist?”

His eyebrows rose, but he didn’t answer. Instead, Camden clapped his hands together once and held them out. “Back at me.” She gingerly threw it in his general direction. He caught the ball and didn’t laugh at her awkward toss. “That wasn’t what I was thinking of, but it probably isn’t a bad idea.”

“There’s not a therapist on Earth who will believe a word I say. They’ll gaslight me. I’ll get upset, and a vicious cycle will start.”

He laughed. “Well, good thing I wasn’t going to suggest a psychologist.” He walked to the far side of the counter and tossed the ball again as though playing catch during a breakfast conversation was par for the course. “Good catch.” He spun the ball in his hand and gave her an easy throw. “There are plenty of therapists who will believe you. There’s probably more spies persquare mile around here than anywhere else in the world.” He reached out and snagged her very bad throw. “Or you can keep talking to me. Unlicensed. Untrained. Butun-judgmental.”

Maybe he mentioned “un-judgmental” because of their late-night conversation. Right then, she didn’t feel judged and wasn’t a tenth as mortified as she had been when walking into the kitchen that morning. Maybe the coffee helped. Maybe it was just Camden.

She chewed her lip. “Who should I meet?”

“A woman who worked adjacent to Hailey and Jonathan. They traveled in the same art circles and worked for the same agency.”

“Oh…” Her eyebrows rose. She hadn’t been in the same vicinity of the person Camden might want her to talk to. Amelia’s interest was piqued. “Will she help me find Hailey?”

Camden twirled the ball in his hands. It didn’t take someone well-versed in human behavior to see he wasn’t sure if Hailey was still alive. “Maybe.”

“When do we meet her?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned. “She’s not entirely bought into the idea of meeting you.”

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