Page 86 of The Mystery of the Moving Image
Neil’s features softened into curiosity. “What? Does Winter know?”
“I told him,” I agreed. “About the family relation. The gun realization just occurred to me a few minutes ago. I know Calvin’s going to talk to Mr. Robert at some point.”
Neil was already pulling his cell out. “I’ll tell him about the bullet so he can ask the grandfather about his collection.”
“He should get a warrant to test Mr. Robert’s firearms.”
Neil put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Go home.” He then moved it and said, “It’s Millett.”
“Tell Calvin I said hi.”
Neil made a shooing motion.
ADRENALINE CRASHESwere hell.
After a successful, though nerve-racking, pit stop at home to find my backup glasses, stuff a backpack with clean clothes, and borrow Calvin’s tablet, I hightailed it to Pop’s. I had no idea if this was the last I’d see of the second teenager, but I was fairly confident he was working in conjunction with Mr. Robert. And if that was the case, I wasn’t looking to be caught alone with a guy who was brutal enough to slit a friend’s throat.
So I got reacquainted with Pop’s couch.
And promptly fell asleep about forty pages into my hot cops book.
“—sorry to wake you, William.”
“Hush, hush. Sebastian warned me you would be late. He’s been asleep since seven. Stay the night.”
“Are you sure? Thank you.”
My brain was a bit sluggish on the uptake—unable to successfully identify the whispering voices near the front door until the sounds had migrated behind me. I recognized Pop’s bedroom door shutting. Then I heard another door farther away—Calvin in the bathroom.
I opened my eyes, wiping my mouth while sitting up.
I drooled. Great.
I leaned forward, took my glasses from the coffee table, and put them on. The near-dark room came into focus. The curtains were all drawn, both pups were attempting to sleep on Maggie’s bed across the room, and at some point in the night, my dad had put some pillows on the couch and covered me with a light blanket.
I hoped he hadn’t gotten an eyeful of the page I fell asleep reading. That’d been a damn fine sex scene.
I picked the book up from where it’d fallen to the floor and set it on the table. I turned my head to the right and stared down the dark hall with the small bit of light peeking out from under the bathroom door.
I can’t be sure what prompted me to stand and walk down the hall just then.
Maybe it was confidence shining through after the late spring cleaning of my heart.
Maybe it was the desire to feelaliveafter the morning’s shoot-out.
Hell. Maybe it was just the lingering effects of the scorching-hot read.
But I stopped outside the bathroom, knocked on the door, and opened it.
Calvin turned as he dried his face with a towel. His sleeves were rolled back, showing the cords of muscle in his arms, and his tie was loosened, with the first button of his shirt undone. “Hey, baby. I’m sorry I woke—”
I pushed the door shut, took a few steps forward, grabbed Calvin by the tie, and pulled him down into a kiss. And it wasn’t justany kiss. It was everything that I was—everything that made him and me,us. It was affection, trust, surprise, want, and need. It was pure, undiluted joy, uncertainty, weakness, and strength.
It was every promise I’d made. Every apology owed. Every vow to do better.
It was every last ounce of love I had for Calvin Winter.
He broke the kiss first with an audible gasp.
