Page 100 of The Night Shift

I don’t. “You could have told her.”

“Told her what? About the cops? Or that I’m now in an apparent relationship with my stalker?”

My lips curve into a smile. “I do love it when you call me yours.”

She shoots me a sharp look. I ignore it.

“Why’d you lie to her?”

“It wasn’t lying,” Holly says flatly. “I just don’t think she needs to know something that doesn’t even concern her at the moment — stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” I say, feigning innocence.

“Making that weird face!”

“You mean smiling?”

“Yes, stop doing that. Just say whatever inappropriate, snarky comment it’s taking ten years off your life to hold back so that I can tell you to go to hell and get on with my life.”

“You’re welcome to tell me to go to hell regardless, love. But don’t for a second think I won’t drag you down with me.”

She shakes her head, a quiet, frustrated sigh slipping past her lips — so full and so soft, the color of a perfectly ripe plum. I can almost taste them. Almost feel them. The way they’d give under mine, the sweet sigh that would escape them as I trailed my tongue along the nape of her neck. Licking. Biting.Marking. She reaches for the doorknob and my hand comes down over hers, firm, perhaps even a bit harsh, stopping her in her tracks.

Her head snaps up, eyes locking onto mine. “Letme go.”

“We’re a lot alike, you and me.”

“Yeah? Do you also feel like grabbing a syringe from that packet over there and stabbing it through your throat?”

“You think I act without thinking about consequences, but I think you just did the same thing. You lied to your best friend because it was the most convenient way out. And it wasn’t the first time, was it? You lied to her last night too. About having me over at your place?”

She purses her lips in a thin line. “What exactly does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Just makes me wonder what else you’re keeping from dear old Camille. Maybe she’s keeping things from you too.”

“What are you trying to say, Theo?”

“What if it’s her? What if she’s the one sending you all these messages?”

Holly laughs, sharp and acidic, the sound dripping with anything but amusement. “Congratulations, Dr. Carter. You have officially lost your mind.”

“It isn’t all that far-fetched.” I lift my hand, my fingers lightly brushing her chin. “Isn’t she the only other person who knows about your little side hustle?”

Her breath slightly hitches, but she makes no effort to smack my hand away. “She’s myfriend. What the fuck would her motive be?”

She’s trying so hard to hide how my touch is affecting her right now, it’s almost comical. She might not admit it, but it’s obvious to anyone with a working set of eyes. The way her body subtly leans into my pull, the way she swallows, the way her eyes never leave mine for even a second — except for that brief, telling flick to my mouth every now and then. Hollylikesthis. She likesmelike this.

“Psychopaths don’t need a motive, Dr. Moore,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “You of all people should know that.” My hand slides up the side of her neck, weaving into the soft strands of her hair. I tug on them gently, but it’s enough to make her gasp, her lips parting as her chest rises sharply.

She doesn’t move away. Doesn’t even try.

Her gaze flickers, darting between my eyes and my mouth, betraying that sharp mind of hers.

My hand slides from her hair to the front of her throat, resting just under her jaw. Her chest rises and falls faster now, the tension thrumming between us like a live wire. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin under my palm. My thumb grazes over her pulse and I imagine clamping my mouth over the spot, sucking until I feel her heart race for an entirely different reason.

She swallows once, her throat bobbing just under my hand.

I lean in closer and her back meets the cold metal shelf with a soft thud, the sound barely registering over the blood roaring in my ears. She leans forward as if to close the space between us —