Page 85 of Let Me In

Straight toward him.

I bite down hard enough that my jaw pops.

“Emmy,” I hiss, even though I know she can’t hear me now. “Emmy.”

But she’s pocketed the phone.

She’s smiling.

She’s saying something.

The dogs stay close. Luca’s posture is alert but not aggressive. Cleo’s quiet.

I shift again, tracking every inch of that bastard’s movement.

He’s trying to look unthreatening.

Trying to make this a conversation.

But I see the way he watches her hands.

The way he’s already placed himself with the car door behind him—engine still running, ready to move.

She gestures toward the dogs.

He glances away.

And her hand moves.

Just briefly.

Just near the back bumper.

My pulse spikes.

No.

She wouldn’t.

She—fuck, she did.

She’s planting something.

Tracker.

Has to be.

Goddamn it, Emmy.

I want to be furious.

But all I feel is a roaring, sick kind of awe. Like a gut-punch laced with pride. My chest feels too tight, my breath too shallow, like my body doesn’t know what to do with this combination of terror and admiration.

She remembered. She saw it. She’s doing this for me.

And she’s risking everything.

I watch her take a step back. Another. Still smiling.

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