“And on your hundred-and-first, you got fucking kidnapped,” he pointed out, jaw tightening. “Reckless behavior doesn’t get any less reckless just because you’ve done it before and walked away unscathed. If you continually put yourself at risk, your luck will eventually run out.”
“Please, spare me the lecture. I can handle myself.”
“Is that what you were doing in that basement? Handling yourself?”
Fury and frustration flashed through me. I spoke without thinking. “If you saw what I’d seen growing up, if you took a walk through the places I spent my formative years, you’d know I’ve been in far more dangerous places than little old Salem. That basement was a freaking palace compared to some of the shitholes I called home, trust me.”
Graham tensed. It was small, almost imperceptible, but I saw it nonetheless. I clamped my lips shut, wishing I could snatch my words back, but it was too late.
Get a hold of yourself, Gwen.
Curiosity sparked in Graham’s eyes as they moved over my face but, thankfully, he didn’t push me to elaborate. He said nothing. Asked nothing. Merely took a small sip of his whiskey and gestured for me to continue.
“As I was saying… I took the shortcut,” I told him, summoning my most measured tone through sheer force of will. “I was looking down at my phone, answering a text from Florence—”
Graham made another unhappy noise. “Distracted. Perfect target.”
I pointedly ignored him and finished, “That’s when they grabbed me.”
There was a long silence. I got the sense he was waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he slammed down his glass on the coffee table. I flinched at the sudden impact. I flinched a second time as he exploded, “And?”
“And what?”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
I shrugged, trying to maintain composure. “What else do you expect me to say?”
“I was hoping for a bit more in the way of detail. A physical description, maybe. Were they male, female, tall, short, fat, thin… What kind of car did they drive? Make, model, plate number, color… You must have seen something useful.”
“Well, I didn’t,” I lied. “Or, if I did, I don’t remember. There’s just a blank space in my memory between walking through that alley and waking up in that basement, tied to a chair. I was there a long time. Hours. And then… you were there.”
Graham did not look satisfied by this explanation. Not remotely. If I’d expected him to take my word on blind faith, I should’ve known better. For the next few minutes, he proceeded to pepper me with questions, rapid-fire. Almost like he knew I was lying and was attempting to trip me up.
How many were there? More than one? More than three? Yes, it matters. What did their voices sound like? Did they speak with any accent? Southern? Boston? English? It’s hard to believe they didn’t say anything at all. Uh huh. Did they smell like anything in particular? Gasoline or cigarettes or pot or incense or perfume or bad BO? Everyone smells like something. Think back. Then think harder, damn it. Come on.
“I don’t know,” I told him over and over, a persistent refrain. “I don’t remember.”
By the time he ran out of questions, Graham’s cheek muscle was ticking like a bomb again as he stared at me, jaw clenching and unclenching. I resisted the urge to wilt against the couch cushions, drained by his interrogation. I liked to think I was a decent enough liar — goddess knew I’d had the need for it, growing up with a mother like mine — but those green eyes seemed to cut straight through my bullshit. Straight throughme, down to my soul. It took all my resolve to keep from squirming in my seat as he eyed me with an unreadable expression. It might’ve been disappointment. It might’ve been something far more intimidating — something I was afraid to put a name to, to be perfectly frank.
Moving with deliberate slowness, he pushed to his feet and walked the length of the couch until he was towering over me. The breath caught in my throat and my lungs convulsed as he leaned down, planting his hands on the leather cushion of the back rest to either side of my head. Just as he had right before he kissed me. Only this time, his lips stopped short of mine — so close, I could feel his breath fanning my lips.
I was statue-still. Unblinking. Unbreathing.
“Gwendolyn.”
“Y-yes?” I stammered.
“Are you lying to me?”
“Why would I lie?” I was unable to look away from his eyes. They were so close to mine. Closer than they’d ever been. My palms were sweaty as I knit them tightly together in my lap, digging my fingernails into the thin flesh above each knuckle. My heart was experiencing such palpitations, I was pretty certain I was going to go into cardiac arrest any second.
“That’s a good question. One I intend to find out the answer to — with or without your cooperation.” Graham’s eyes, just for a second, flashed down to my mouth. His voice was thick. Almost a rasp. “Go get in my shower. There are cobwebs in your hair.”
Sliding sideways, I shot off the couch like a bullet from a gun.
I didn’t dare look back.
* * *