A chill scampers down my back as I step beneath the spray. I have a hard time believing anyone could forget that man’s icy gaze.
“Maybe your witness is confused,” Abby continues. I scowl at the tile. “Look, once her friend’s been missing twenty-four hours, she can come down to the station to file an official report. You can bring her in yourself. Just don’t let Harris see you.”
“I’ll do that,” Cal says.
He thanks her and hangs up. A gust of cool air sweeps across my back as he climbs into the shower with me. He squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm and motions for me to turn around.
“Are we going to the station?” I ask. He washes my hair and neck, and my muscles instantly melt from the amount of care in his touch. I’d been worried things would be weird between us after last night, but the awkwardness I expected to feel upon waking never showed up.
“Not just yet. I want to see if I can get Stephanie to talk first.”
“But shouldn’t you let your partner do that?”
“Probably.” He guides me under the spray to rinse off, then begins soaping my body. “But I’ve never been all that good at following protocol, especially when it gets in the way of progress.”
We finish showering and then get dressed. While Cal places a call to someone who can hopefully tell us Steph’s address, I take a few spare seconds to line my eyes in red and black. I want to look fierce, like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.
“Heart’s Hardware,” Cal says into his phone. “I figured you might’ve worked with him. Any idea where he lives? ...At his house? You got the address handy?” He heads downstairs, and I trail behind him, my gaze zeroing in on the holster at his hip. “Thanks, brother. I owe you... Fine, we’ll call it even.”
Cal hangs up. He notes my wary expression, my gaze that won’t stop darting to the gun at his side.
“A cop’s always gotta be prepared,” he says. His mouth curves as his gaze drips over my white, skin-tight tank top and black denim cut-offs. “Look at you...”
I rest my hands on my hips. “I’m going for investigation chic.”
His gaze darts away from mine. He pours me a bowl of granola and adds a few glugs of milk.
“Do we have time for breakfast?” I ask, taking the bowl and spoon he offers me.
“There’s always time for breakfast. Now, you sit at the table, relax, eat. While I go pay Mrs. Heartwell a friendly visit.”
I stop the spoon halfway to my mouth.
“You mean, stay here?”
“I prefer the term, stay safe.” He drinks down half his coffee.
I lay my spoon down. “Cal, I appreciate that you want to protect me, but there’s no way I’m not coming with you to Steph’s.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, that’s the way it’s gotta be.”
I slide my bowl away. If he thinks I’m staying put while Kenzie’s out there all alone, he’s delusional. “I'm not just going to wait around for someone else to find her."
"And I don't want you in more danger than you’re already in.”
His puts on a stern-daddy face, but I refuse to waver.
“Fine,” I say. “If you don’t want me to go with you, I can go to the police station, like your partner said.”
“That’s the last place I want you walking into by yourself,” he grumbles. “Someone in the department’s been leaking intel about our case.”
“The case about the missing girls?”
He nods, pushing the bowl of granola back toward me. “And we can’t forget the driver’s still out there looking for you."
"For all we know, he's only looking for me because he thinks I know where Kenzie is."
"Maybe so. But I'm not willing to risk it.”
“So, you’re going to leave me here like a sitting duck for him to find?”
“Nobody knows to look for you here. That’s why it’s the best place for you. Think of it as a vacation. Take a nap, enjoy the wi-fi, eat anything you find in the fridge—"
"Or I'll leave as soon as your car is gone and go look for Kenzie myself."
"Not if I cuff you to the bedframe."
I squint. "You wouldn't."
"Try me, little girl."
Frustration roils in my belly. Our staring contest goes on so long that my vision blurs and my eyes begin to water.
“Cal, I know you’re just trying to keep me safe, but if you want a princess you can lock in a tower, you’ve brought home the wrong girl. I’m as far from royalty as it gets. I come from the gutter, where scraping and clawing for every scrap of comfort isn’t the plot of a storybook adventure. It’s a fact of life—mine and Kenzie’s.” I lay my upturned hand on the table. “You can’t save me from my own life, Daddy.”