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23

LUCY

When the door closes behind Flint, I sink to the floor. The man I've been falling for is Flint Ifrinn, one of the missing brothers I've been investigating. I cover my face with my hands as I try to process this bombshell.

How did I not see it? And yet, how could I? Yes, he dodged questions about his life. He was evasive about his work. But how could I have put together that Flynn Tine was Flint Ifrinn?

What hurts most is how he turned this around on me. Like I'm the one who betrayed him. I never hid who I was or what I wanted. From day one, he knew I was investigating the Keans. Meanwhile, he watched me dig into his family's history, probably laughing at how clueless I was.

No, not laughing. When I first showed him the list of the deceased, emotion was there. I just didn’t understand it. But now I do. It was hard not to be affected by the passion in his voice when he listed off the names of the dead. His mother who sang to him. The cook who taught him to make pancakes. The pain in his eyes was real. Just like what I felt for him was real. And he had the gall to suggest all I wanted was the story. Damn him! How dare he accuse me of toying with his heart when he's the one who's been lying this whole time. And now he has the nerve to lock me away for my protection after he's the one who murdered someone right in front of me?

I'm furious at him for lying and at myself for falling for it. But mostly, I'm angry that he somehow twisted this to make it my fault. He's the one who chose to use me, to seduce me, to make me care about him while hiding who he really was.

Finally pulling myself together, I push up from the floor on shaky legs. The house is tiny, a living space open to a small kitchen. Behind me are three doors, two to bedrooms, one to a bathroom. The walls are bare. The furniture is scarce.

Opening cabinets at random, I find them mostly empty except for some basic provisions. No personal items, no mail, nothing that would give away who really lives here. It's clearly just a safehouse, stripped of anything meaningful.

In the bedroom, the bed tucked into the corner calls to me as exhaustion overwhelms me. I've been running on adrenaline since Marshall recognized Flint, since watching him… I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to replay that moment again.

Despite my racing thoughts, my body feels like lead. I curl up on top of the covers, telling myself I'll just rest for a minute. I yearn for the warmth and safety I’d felt in Flint’s arms, which annoys me. How can I still crave his presence when I now know he’s a liar and murderer?

Sleep pulls me under before I can find an answer.

I joltawake at the sound of keys in the door, my heart racing as I bolt from bed. My eyes dart around the room as I look for something, anything to protect myself with.

“Lucy?”

It’s not Flint’s voice. I peek out the bedroom door. The man in the living area has the same dark hair and blue eyes that Flint does. I remember him from the group of men at Flint’s place that first night I met Flint. Not his coworkers, I realize now. His brothers.

"I'm Ash," he says, setting down grocery bags on the counter in the tiny kitchen. "Flint's brother."

I wrap my arms around myself, watching him warily. "Did he send you to make sure I don't escape?"

"He sent me to make sure you have what you need." Ash drops a duffel bag on the two-person table. "Your clothes. And this." He pulls out my research bag.

“You went through my stuff?”

If he notices I’m incensed, he doesn’t show it. “Flint figured you’d want your work.”

I’m more worried about his going through my underwear drawer but don’t say that. "My laptop?"

"We're keeping that safe for now. The Keans are good at tracking digital footprints." He places a basic flip phone on the counter. "Only use this if it's an emergency. My and Flint's numbers are programmed in."

"What if I don't want to call Flint?"

He shrugs like it’s nothing to him. “I hope you don’t.”

I frown. Does he put this all on me too? "How long do I have to stay here?"

"Until the Keans are dealt with or we're certain the Keans won't come after you." Ash leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Marshall was well-connected. Once they find his body, they'll start asking questions. Flint says people probably saw you follow Marshall out the door, which puts a target on you if they can figure out who you are."

My stomach churns at the reminder of what happened. "So I'm just supposed to sit here indefinitely while you and your brothers wage your war?"

"Would you prefer we left you to face the Keans alone?"

The steel in his voice makes me shrink back. Despite his calm demeanor, there's danger radiating off him, the same dangerous edge I'd found so thrilling in Flint before I knew who he really was.

"No. But I hate feeling trapped here."