Page 106 of Executing Malice

I give a slow nod of understanding. “Then I will make it my home, too.”

“You don’t have to—”

I kiss her and taste the sweet brown sugar and berries on her lips. “You are my home, Leila. Wherever you are. If this is what you want, I will make it happen.”

There’s a damp sheen to her eyes when she pulls back that contradicts the sweet smile curling her mouth. “Thank you.”

I lift her hand and brush my lips along her knuckles. “Anything for you.”

Face less clouded by her uncertainties, she turns to her bowl, only to stop and take my hand again.

“What is this?”

I follow her gaze to the plait and the ribbon tied next to it.

“Your hair.”

She blinks. Her hand flies to the riot she’s pulled into a neat ponytail at the top of her head.

“Where—?”

“It’s from before,” I assure her when she starts searching for uneven patches. “I wanted a part of you with me when you went to school. You braided it and tied it on.”

Relieved, she pulls my hand into her lap and examines the neatly woven braid. “And you’ve had it all this time?”

“Never took it off,” I murmur, not adding that I couldn’t. Couldn’t risk losing it, wrecking it. “It was all I had left of you.”

Our porridge sits forgotten as she kisses me. Neither of us want to be the first to pull away as time slips around us and we stay tangled in the soft moment.

“What about me?” she asks after several minutes. “What of yours did I have?”

I touch the pulse at her throat with the tips of my fingers and run them down to the hollow. “You had a locket with my hair in it. I tried to grow my hair out for a bracelet, but you were impatient.”

“A locket?” She touches the spot where my fingers lingered, brows creased. “I didn’t have a locket when they found me. Maybe it fell off?”

“What were you wearing?” I ask, remembering the video footage of her leaving school that day.

I watch her frown and shake her head. “Panties and a torn shirt.”

“Was it a gray T-shirt?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes!”

“It was mine. You wore it to school that morning.”

Dejection softens her features, and she exhales heavily. “Sheriff Brewer asked if I wanted it back and I said no. He probably threw it away. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care about that.” I smooth the pad of my thumb along her cheekbone. “And we’ll get you another locket if that’s what you want.”

The hint of a smile lightens her eyes. She reaches up and tugs on a piece of hair hanging over my brow.

“Could almost make a bracelet.”

Rather than answer, I capture her wrist and tug her to me. I loop her arm around my neck and drop my face to her chest. Nuzzle the spot where her heart patters lightly.

“I’ll find out what happened,” I promise her. “I don’t care how long it takes.” My head lifts and I peer into her eyes. “I’ll find the person who took you.”

If.