Page 70 of Saints & Sinners

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair; gone were the snippets of jokes and teases with him. “I don’t owe you every answer.”

Silence swept over us, and I huffed as he turned away, grabbing a towel from the bathroom cabinet.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he muttered, stepping into the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, I felt a surge of resolve. If he wasn’t going to share information, I’d find it myself then.

I slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could, then made my way down the hall, retracing our steps to the lobby.

A few leaflets and a wall full of news posts were by the entrance. I went over and looked for anything that might seem out of the ordinary, but there was nothing except a few posters about a Christmas football event and a grandma who’d won the national lottery.

I sighed, turning toward the front desk, when I spotted the same man who’d been at the park sitting at the bar, deep in conversation with another guy.

I stilled, unsure whether to bolt out of there and find Hunter or do something stupid and brave on my own.

Naturally, I went with the stupid and brave option.

Inhaling slowly, I forced my legs to move and slid into a stool a few seats down from him, my fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against the bar top. I kept my head low, pretending to scan the menu like I wasn’t internally freaking out. When the bartender asked for ID, I panicked and muttered, “Just a coke,” like that made me sound casual and not like a fraud about to blow her own cover.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the two men. Thesecond one scribbled something on a notepad, then tore the page cleanly and slid it toward the guy from the park.

My pulse kicked up a notch. They shook hands—too formal, too intentional—and stood to leave. As they passed by, I turned my face away, pretending to study the dusty drink menu like it held the meaning of life. Only when their footsteps faded did I slide off the stool and dart across the bar.

“Do you have a pencil?” I asked the bartender.

He blinked at me.

“I just need to jot something down,” I added, throwing in a sheepish smile for good measure.

After a beat, he handed one over. I snatched it and flipped to the notepad the guy had written on, dragging the pencil sideways across the next blank sheet, shading fast.

“Come on, come on—yes!” I whispered in triumph, though I immediately winced and glanced up at the bartender. He stared at me like I might be mildly unhinged.

But I didn’t care. A faint address had appeared through the graphite, and I scribbled it down quickly.

I had just turned to leave when I slammed directly into a solid chest. Hunter’ssolid chest, to be precise.

My eyes widened.

He looked pissed as his eyes scanned my face. “What the hell were you thinking?” he hissed, gripping my arm as he pulled me a few steps away from the bar and out of earshot.

“I was following a lead,” I said, trying to shake off his grip, but he held onto me firmly. “Why do you never take me seriously when I say I can help?”

Hunter scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry,queenof questionable life choices.” He then shook his head. “I thought something had happened. Do you have any idea—” He stopped himself, breathing hard as if trying to regain control.

It was strange to see him this worried about me, and Icontemplated whether to dig further and ask if it was because he cared or because I would be a liability if something happened to me. In ways, I was afraid to find out, but I alsowantedto know.

My mind had been full of contradictions lately.

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “I’m okay, see? Not a scratch.” I waved a hand over myself. “And guess what? I got something that might help.”

His anger faltered, as his gaze dropped to the note in my hand. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, this time more resigned as his grip on my arm relaxed and his thumb brushed against my skin absentmindedly.

“Yeah? Well, maybe if you didn’t keep so many secrets, I wouldn’t have to be.”

He was still glaring at me, but it lacked the intensity from a moment ago as he took the note from me. “Secrets are safer than the truth, Grace.”

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant by that. “Safe for who, exactly?”

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