his circle of friends about exactly why Mom was arrested.
He’s been weirdly invested in this whole thing—standing up for my mom to Detective Dunagan, helping her find a lawyer, offering me a place to stay. Maybe it’s because the detective made the arrest at Samuel’s house, at his cocktail party. Maybe in some weird way, he’s standing up for his honor and reputation as well as my mom’s.
Whatever the fuck his reasons are though… I appreciate the help, but I know better than to rely on it.
I slip inside the service entrance and walk up to the second floor. When I step through the door in the northwest corner of the house where the hallways that lead to my room and to my mom’s apartment intersect, I see Lincoln leaning against the wall just past my bedroom door.
His arms are crossed, and his too-handsome face is set in a grim mask, his amber eyes bright in the dim light.
For fuck’s sake.
My muscles clench involuntarily as I brace for another confrontation, but he just nods once and presses away from the wall, retreating down the corridor before turning a corner toward his room.
What the hell was that about?
Does he think I’m going to make a run for it? Was he just waiting to make sure I actually came inside the house instead of running for the hills?
I know he’s been watching me—at least, when he’s not at school—but he’s usually more subtle about it than this.
His spicy coriander scent still seems to linger on my clothes, and as I slip inside the bedroom, my skin still tingles from the heat of his hands on my arms.
I’ll have to shower before bed tonight. I don’t want his addicting aroma clinging to me, reminding me of something I thought I had.
Something that was never real.
3
The water cascading over my skin is hot, almost painfully so, and I scrub hard with my loofah, massaging the pomegranate body wash into my skin as if I can erase Lincoln and replace him with a gentle fruity scent.
My skin is pink by the time I turn the handle and step out of the shower, but I feel refreshed. Honestly, it wasn’t just Lincoln’s touch I was trying to scrub away, but the stale air of the prison too, the feeling of failure that clings to me all the time now.
I tug on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top, even though it’s not even five o’clock yet. The Black family will have dinner downstairs—served by Gwen, who cooks pretty much all the meals around here—but I don’t plan on leaving this corner of the house for the rest of the evening.
There’s still food in Mom’s little kitchen, so I’ll go over there to grab a bite later. I don’t like spending more time in her apartment than I have to though, because it just reminds me all over again that she’s gone—that she was dragged away unexpectedly.
The police searched her place the same night they arrested her, tearing through her apartment and dumping clothes, books, and couch cushions on the floor while I watched from the doorway, clinging to the frame to stay upright.
Once they finally left, I put everything back as close to the way it was as possible, but it still doesn’t feel right. There’s something off, like a puzzle that’s been put together out of order.
I hate it.
Before I can grab my book and settle on the bed, the doorbell chimes.
My heart slams in my chest, and I move closer to the bedroom door as if drawn by a magnetic force. I don’t know who it is, but the Black family doesn’t get a lot of unexpected visitors. If someone’s at the house now, there’s a good chance it has to do with my mom.
I slip into the hall, padding on bare feet toward the second level balcony that overlooks the grand foyer on three sides. I reach it just as Samuel Black opens the door, and I watch him greet Detective Dunagan with cool civility.
“Detective. What can I do for you this evening?”
He doesn’t open the door wider, and I notice he also doesn’t invite the man in.
“Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Black,” Dunagan says curtly. “I just have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
Lincoln’s dad shakes his head, irritation clear in his posture even from where I’m standing. “I already answered your questions. I’ve gone along with this sham of an arrest and allowed you to execute your search warrants on my property. I don’t really—”
“Just a few questions, sir. It won’t take much time at all, I promise you.”
“It’s not my time I’m worried about,” the dark-haired man growls, but he sighs and ushers the detective down the stairs of the front stoop, stepping out after him.