Page 58 of Swerve
I unlock the door, flick the porch light on, and step inside. He closes the door behind us. I turn on a lamp in the living room. Pounce saunters in from the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, his yowl expectedly offended.
“Mind if I look around?”
“No,” I say, feeling a ping of unease for the first time. It’s never occurred to me to fear for my own safety.
He goes from room to room, opening doors, closets, looking under the beds. The house is single level, so once he’s done, he steps through the French doors off the living room and disappears into the backyard. I see the flashlight from his phone swoop from one end of the fenced lawn to the other.
When he comes back in, he says, “Do you have a gun?”
“No.”
“You should. I’ll bring one by in the morning.”
“But I don’t have a permit.”
“We’ll call it a loaner. Meanwhile, you should get one and apply for concealed carry.”
“You’re kind of scaring me.”
He lets his eyes meet mine then, and the seriousness in his look further unnerves me.
“If this Sergio is involved in your sister’s disappearance,” he says, “and Madison told him that you were with me tonight asking questions, he might come looking for you.”
Fear jolts through me. And right behind it, a stab of anger that my life, Mia’s life, has been taken hostage by a likely psychopath so lacking in conscience that he had taken the life of a beautiful, young girl tonight. “Do I need to be afraid?”
He gives me a level look. “I have to be honest with you. I don’t know.”
I am suddenly frozen with the awareness that I do not feel safe in my own house.
“Is there someone else you could stay with for a while? A friend?”
“Yes, but then I would be putting her in danger too.”
He blows out a sigh, and says, “You can stay at my place tonight. It’s not much, but you’ll be safe.”
“Oh. Thank you. But I couldn’t. You know, I’m probably overreacting. I’ll be fine. If I hear anything at all, I’ll dial 911.”
He stares at me for several long seconds, glances at his watch, and says, “It’s already one a.m. Why don’t I just sleep on your sofa?”
Relief cascades through me. I can’t summon any vestige of pride that might make me deny being afraid. I am afraid. “That would be . . . are you sure you don’t mind?”
He shakes his head, and then with a half-smile adds, “As long as I don’t have to sleep with Pounce.”
~
I FIND BLANKETS and a pillow and make up the couch for him. I start to feel self-conscious when I realize he has no clothes except for the ones he’s wearing. My brain does a quick flash of him sleeping under these blankets, and my imagination starts to run away with me.
I quickly finish tucking in the edges, fluff the pillow, and turn around to find him standing right behind me. My chest collides with his mid-section. My instant thought is abs of steel. I step back so quickly that my leg hits the edge of the couch, and I fall backward.
He stares down at me for a moment, then offers a hand to pull me up. I ignore the gesture, shooting up on my own and putting several yards of distance between us. “Would you . . . I have a new toothbrush and toothpaste. Can I get those for you?”
“Yeah,” he says, his gaze still locked with mine. “I’d appreciate that.”
“It’s the least I can do. Is there anything else you need?”
I hear myself say the words, feel the undercurrent, and do not wait for him to answer. I head for my bathroom, opening the drawer and rummaging for the toothbrush and toothpaste. It is only when I’m about to head back out the door that I glance in the mirror and notice the flush in my cheeks.
Knox
