Page 15 of Fanged Embrace
“I don’t.” I sighed, limply signing the words for Amara. “But she’s definitely onto something. And she’s certainly spooked. She knows more than she’s letting on, that’s for certain.”
Another minute went by. And Laurie still hadn’t returned.
I stared at her empty seat—and then it clicked.Surely not…?“Do you think she?—”
“Yeah,” Dylan groaned, slumping over the table. “Yeah, she definitely bolted.”
I blinked, then swore. “Shit.”
I pushed out of the booth and jogged toward the back hallway of the diner. The door to the bathroom was swinging slowly on its hinges. I pushed inside and scanned the cubicles.
Empty. No sign of Laurie.
The window above the sink sat wide open, just big enough for a particularly skinny body to wriggle through.
“Goddammit.” I palmed a hand to my face, inwardly kicking myself for letting her out of my sight.
“Called it.” Behind me, Dylan’s voice echoed lazily down the corridor, adding insult to injury. “You really have a way with women, you know that?”
8
Laurie
The lock clicked into place with a quietsnick, but I stood staring at the door for a few seconds longer. Just in case.
I kept my arms folded, my jaw clenched. I’d double-checked all the windows already. The front door was bolted. Still, paranoia clawed at my spine, a jittery hum I couldn’t shake.They could find me.
River and her crew might not be part of the organization, but that didn’t mean I was safe. They hadn’t hurt me, sure. But that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own tricks up their sleeves. I checked the lock again.What if they tracked me down? What if?—
Behind me, Arlon cleared his throat.
He’d shown up a few minutes earlier, waited patiently while I mustered up the courage to open the door, and now he was standing with the cautious kind of quiet that made my skin itch. I hauled my eyes away from the door and glanced back at him.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just… looked.
His gaze skimmed over the mess—the garbage and the dirty dishes and the clothes strewn about—the aftermath of a one-woman war. I braced for a comment. A sigh. Maybe the usual: “Jesus, Laurie.” But he stayed quiet, didn’t have to say a word. His face said it all.
I felt my stomach twist. Shame flared hot in my chest, and I turned away from him, retreating toward the cluttered coffee table like I could fix it just by standing near it. “It’s… not usually this bad. I’ve been busy.”
When I glanced back at him again, Arlon nodded slowly, clearly not believing a word of it.
“I didn’t come here to judge,” he said finally, voice soft but strained.
I dropped my gaze and kicked aside an empty can. “Didn’t say you were.”
Arlon sighed. “I just… wanted to see how you were doing.”
I scoffed quietly, sweeping a stack of takeout boxes aside so I could sit down on the single, sagging sofa. “You mean besides the chronic insomnia and the growing wall of red string?” I gestured vaguely to the not-so-metaphorical conspiracy board tacked above my bed. “Doing great.”
Arlon didn’t laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck and hovered on the spot, his eyes tracking through the space with building concern. “You know I worry.”
I didn’t answer. Because I did know. He worried too much. He always had.
Even when I was still living in his spare bedroom—when I couldn’t breathe through the night without jerking awake in a cold sweat. Before I stopped flinching every time he passed me by. He’d tiptoe around like I was made of glass. But I couldn’t heal shit while he was hovering.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, more defensive than I meant to be.
“You don’t have to be,” he said gently, settling down on theedge of the wobbly excuse for a coffee table. “You’ve been through hell, Laurie. You’ve lost… so much.”
