Chapter Twenty-Three
Nate
She didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak.
Fine. I’d start.
“Want to unload the truck?” I asked.
Her shoulders jerked once. Then she turned, and whatever fear or hesitation had flickered there vanished. Her chin lifted. Her eyes were both cold and burning.
“I’m not staying here,” she said.
No buildup. No apology.
She continued, “I’m not sleeping with you again. I’m not lying to everyone in town. I’m not doing this.”
There it was. Not a request. A declaration.
Some people hated silence. They rushed to fill it with excuses or backpedaling. I didn’t. I let sit, giving us both a moment to calm.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Then what’s your alternative?”
For a moment her expression wavered, like she hadn’t expected me to sound reasonable. Maybe she thought I’d argue. Or make promises. Or lose my temper.
What was that what she was used to? Despite how I’d spoken outside, that wasn’t my norm.
She straightened. “Getting in my truck and leaving.”
“And going where?”
Her fingers curled into fists.
I stepped in closer, slow enough not to startle her and softened my tone. “Seriously. Where are you going? Do you have a plan? Resources? Someone like Silas offering you a place to hide?”
“None of your business,” she said.
“It is,” I answered. “You’re on my property. In my uncle’s house. Packing a truck full of things you won’t let anyone see. That makes it my business.”
Her jaw flexed. I could tell she’d rather throw a punch than talk.
“Even if you could leave—and you can’t—where does a woman go who is clearly hiding from the authorities.”
She glared. “You don’t know anything about me or who is after me.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
Her nostrils flared. She almost stepped toward me, then stopped herself like she remembered how dangerous closeness could be.
I went for the point she couldn’t ignore. “You said you wanted to clear your father’s name.”
Her eyes flickered. She didn’t deny it.
“Good,” I said. “Then tell me why he’s innocent.”
There was the flinch. Small but real. Her hand went to the locket at her throat before she jerked it back. “No.”
“That’s not an answer,” I said. “Try again.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” she snapped.
“You owe me rent, utilities, and an explanation for why you lived on my uncle’s land without any of us knowing.” I paused. “The cost of that is the truth. Let’s go back to your father. What’s his name?”
Her voice drop. “If I thought it would help anyone, I would tell you. Trust me.”
“I need a reason to,” I said. “You’re asking me to trust you without giving me anything to work with. What’s your real name?”
Her eyes darted to the doorway. I calculated how quickly I could beat her to it.
“What do you want?” she demanded. “A résumé? A portfolio? A character reference?”
“I want the truth.”
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No one who says that ever means it.”
“Try me,” I said.
Her gaze swept me from head to toe. “You’re a suit. Everything is for profit. And it needs to be neat and clean. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Or I would,” I said. “And that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Her eyes flashed. The anger was good. Anger talked.
I asked. “Fine. Let’s switch lanes.” I used the tone I reserved for negotiations I intended to win. “You think I should blindly trust you,” I said. “Why?”
Her chin jerked back. “I never said—”
“You did,” I cut in. “You expect me to let you leave, no questions asked, with whatever you packed up.”
“Because nothing I’m taking is any of your business.”
“Here’s what I know: There’s no match of anyone resembling you named Jo Arlington. Not a single trace. I don’t know how you met my uncle. He never mentioned you to anyone in my family. Not once.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means you appeared out of nowhere during the last months of his life,” I said, my voice low. “While you were here we weren’t told he was sick. We weren’t told when he died. We weren’t invited to the funeral.”
“That was his choice,” she said, her voice cracking. “Not mine.”
“I believed you at first, but now? Now I don’t know what I believe.”
She flinched at that.
“So here’s the truth from my side,” I went on. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know if you had something to do with his death.”
Her face went pale. “How dare you—”
“Oh I dare,” I said firmly. “But if I thought you were guilty of that, I would have already called the police.”
Her throat bobbed. “Then why say it?”
“Because it’s one of a hundred possibilities I haven’t ruled out,” I said. “Because there’s a lot going on here that no one knew about and there you are. In the center of it.”
“First, Silas pulled away from your family a long time before he met me.” She clutched the banister as if steadying herself. “Second, what do you want from me?” she whispered.
Honesty. Connection. Answers.
“The only thing I truly know about you,” I said instead, “is how you taste.”
Her pupils widened. Heat pulsed between us.
“But that,” I added, “doesn’t help us right now.”
Her breath hitched. Mine wasn’t much steadier.
My phone buzzed again. This time I looked. My team had arrived.
Her knuckles went white around the banister. She wasn’t watching the approaching headlights. Her attention was fully on me, but not in a good way. Not in the way she’d looked at me the night before.
Good. Let her hate me. I could take it. We could circle back to that after I had some answers.
“Last chance,” I said softly. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Her eyes narrowed, then softened into something like resignation. “I can’t.”
Couldn’t or wouldn’t. Same outcome.
I nodded. The decision clicked into place.
“Then we’ll do this the hard way,” I said.
Outside, car doors slammed. Voices carried through the cold night.
The countdown to the truth had begun.