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I sober, knowing I have to change gears. “I found somethin’ out today at the library.”
“You did?”
I nod. “Yeah. I found an address listed for Human Resources for HelixCorp where Emilia worked.”
Mac’s mouth parts in surprise. “Did you find anything else?”
“Not really.”
She appears contemplative. “You want me to help you get inside there and look around.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, and she’s right.
“Yeah.” I study her reaction and tack on a “Please.”
She nods slowly, casting her eyes at the small bit of her wrap that remains, studying it as if it holds the secrets of the universe. “I’ve never really done anything like that before.”
With my fingers beneath her chin, I urge her to meet my gaze. “Hey.” Her blue eyes lock with mine. “I promise I won’t put you in danger. Okay?”
She searches my features, as though trying to detect the truthfulness in it. “Okay.”
I comb her hair back from her face, the silvery strands contrasting with my darker skin, and let my fingers drop to trace the tattoos that descend from just beneath the left side of her jawline.
She lets me map them with my touch, but she’s not completely relaxed; she holds herself slightly rigid, her eyes closed.
“So, you’re wanting to head there tomorrow?” Her tone might be casual, but it’s laced with a heavy resignation.
I recognize it because it’s coiled inside me, too. Knowing that as soon as I get my answers, I won’t have a reason to stick around here.
“Or in the next few days.” My answer surprises the shit out of me, inciting an internal war.
I’m torn between loyalty at getting to the bottom of Emilia’s death, but also taking advantage of my time here with Mac. Being with her somehow lightens the weight my shoulders have been saddled with.
Mac takes another bite and chews slowly before swallowing. Her gaze sweeps over my bare chest, lingering appreciatively. Earlier, she’d demanded I remove my shirt as part of a compromise since I’d protested her putting her panties back on.
What she doesn’t know is, I would’ve done it without any compromise from her.
Her attention lingers on my medal, and she lifts her chin, gesturing to it. “I assume there’s a story behind that.”
I stretch my arm along the back of the couch while my other hand reaches for the medal that I haven’t taken off since the day it was given to me.
“The closest thing to a mom I’ve got, that’s who gave me this.”
Mac sets aside the last bit of her wrap on the coffee table and leans back against the couch, eyes resting intently on me.
Memories I haven’t recalled in years start rushing in. “I showed up at her son’s school because I needed a fresh start. I was so fuckin’ tired of bein’ looked at like the poor kid whose mom died, whose sister ran away, and whose dad was an asshole drunk nobody could stand.”
I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “I was smart—smart enough to forge my school records—and decided I was gonna show up at the school in the next district over, ready to start classes.”
A smile plays at my lips at the memory. “I really thought I’d just walk in, and it would be smooth sailin’.”
“It wasn’t?” Mac murmurs quietly.
A rumble of a laugh escapes me. “Nah, not really. I was scrawny as hell and made for easy pickin’s for the bigger kids.” I shake my head. “I was barely twelve years old and tested into the eleventh grade with sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. It was a fuckin’ shitshow.”
I scrub a hand down my face, my scruff rasping beneath my palm. “Plus, I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Mount Everest, along with the guilt and relief that I’d killed my old man.
“I could’ve snapped one day when those other kids went after me. I knew it in the back of my mind. But I also knew I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to just be a murderer. I wanted more for myself.”
My eyes lift to meet hers. “Still can’t say what made him do it, but another eleventh grader interfered with two other older kids who were givin’ me shit that day.
