Page 64 of Half the Summer's Night

I squeeze my glass tighter.

“You did it again,” I say softly.

“I did.” His gravelly, rough voice works under my skin. I take a sip of my Coke to calm myself. Then I grin sheepishly at him and say, “It’s just soda.”

“Good.”

Heat blooms inside my clit. I try to ignore it. I can’t do that again. Not with him. He’s amurderer.

“Can we talk out here?” I ask.

Nameless tilts his head, and at first, I think he doesn’t understand the question. But then he says, “Safer to talk inside. There are people around. Not like before.”

I peer out at the dark and wonder again how he could possibly know that. The night feels empty to me.

I shouldn’t let him in my house. I should go inside, lock the door, call the police.

I don’t do any of that, of course. I just step backward over the porch and push the door open.

Nameless steps into the light, big and imposing in his dark clothes. My eyes drip, unbidden, to his gloved hands, and my clit pulses.

I go inside. He follows, his steps heavy against the wooden floor. When he swings the door shut, my breath catches. When he locks it, lust flares in me again.

I will myself not to look at the viewing room.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.

I stare up at him, feeling dizzy. I’m not sure what to do, really. Should I invite him upstairs to my living room? Should we stay down here in the funeral parlor, which feels more like a neutral territory?

Should I take him to see the body?

That thought startles me. I shove it aside.

“You were following me,” I say, setting my drink and my phone down on the entrance table, next to the stack of pamphlets. They still have Uncle Vic’s face on them, smiling pleasantly at the camera. I flip the whole stack over and look at Nameless.

“You know I watch over you,” he says calmly.

“No.” I shake my head. “During the day. You were following me. Neptune’s Adventure? Really?”

His chest lifts, like he’s taking a deep breath. When he doesn’t say anything, I keep going

“You saw me go there, didn’t you? With Rowan?” I tremble a little, saying his name. “Promise me you won’t—hurthim.”

I can’t bring myself to saykill.

Nameless watches me, and I wish, suddenly, that I could rip that mask off and see his face. To have a sense, however vague, of what he’s thinking.

“Rowan is the man you were with,” he finally says.

“So you were following me,” I say. “Why would you—do thatat some place I was just at? Don’t you know that Kaplan—” I stop myself, hearing the way the panic rises in my voice. “The Rosado sheriff already doesn’t trust me,” I say stiffly. “Because of what happened when I was sixteen. And if death follows me?—”

“Death isn’t following you,” Nameless rasps. “It was a terrible, terrible accident.”

“It was not! And we both know it!” My voice trembles. “Who was it, anyway? I was so fucking afraid you had killed Rowan?—“

“I’m not going to kill Rowan,” Nameless says. “And the victim doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is the message. Did you find the message?”

“Of course I did!” I spit out. “Why are you doing this? Why me?”