Page 65 of No More Secrets

“But the warrant—”

“I’m not dragging you in for a traffic ticket.”

“Not that one.”

She glances at him, a frown marring her smooth forehead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The one—” He abruptly stops before he incriminates himself.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

They sit in silence for a few miles as he runs through the sequence of events the night Dwight died over and over again. Tracking his father down. Confronting him in his hotel room. Their fight. His father knocking him over the head with a trash bin. Sprinting down ten flights of stairs. Chasing him across town. Running lights, speeding, and driving recklessly. Then a big blank hole in his head until flashes of memory. Climbing down the ravine. His father unconscious in his car. Wrappingthe seat belt around his neck, suffocating him. Then he’s back in his truck staring at his bloody, cut-up hands. Why isn’t there a warrant?

Sophie glances at him. Then glances at him again, pulling him out of the past.

He shifts uneasily in the seat. “What?”

“Back there in the parking lot...”

He interrupts with a sigh. “Sorry about that.” He wants to blame the alcohol for lowering his inhibitions, but he’d be lying. He wanted to touch her, and for a moment there when she reciprocated, he felt a spark. But he should have asked her first.

“It’s all right. Unexpected, but not...” She shakes her head.

He looks at her curiously. “Not what?”

“Never mind.”

“Not what, Sophie?” He leans toward her, liking the feel of her name on his tongue much better than Zea.

“It was not bad,” she says, her gaze forward. She’s clearly uncomfortable with her reaction to him.

He stares at her. “So it wasn’t just me. You felt something, too.”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Yes, I felt something.” Pause. “Something good. I like you, Lucas.”

Stunned, he stares at her. Then he smiles ridiculously. Alcohol is making him loopy. “You like me.”

She glares at him. “Wipe that smug look off your face. We didn’t even kiss. Dammit, Lucas.” She smacks the steering wheel several times. “You’ve put me in a tough spot. And don’t ask me to explain,” she quickly adds, shaking a finger at him.

His grin easing, he frowns, wondering what she means.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I’m so screwed.”

He starts to ask her why when she turns into the Dusty Pantry’s parking lot and abruptly stops. A van is parked at the base of the staircase to the second-floor apartments, its motor running. His gaze narrows on the two guys waiting inside the van. A guy with a scruffy beardsits behind the wheel, and another guy, lanky with boy-band hair, gets out of the vehicle at the sight of Shiloh rushing down the stairs.

“Finn!” she squeals and launches into the guy’s arms.

A growl emanates from Lucas’s throat.

Sophie parks the truck. “Do you know them?”

“Some guy she met online.” And by the looks of him, he’s much older than the nineteen years he told Shiloh he is.

Knew it. Lucas exits the truck before he processes what he’s doing. He strides over to the trio. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Shiloh looks at him, startled. “Lucas!”