Page 19 of Tempest’s Torment

I nod. "Yeah."

Ghost nods. "That's enough for me." He looks at Rogue. "See what you can find."

Rogue opens his laptop again. "I'll start with Connecticut."

Ghost looks back at me. "You keep doing what you're doing."

"Which is?"

"Nothing different,” he says and I raise an eyebrow. "She doesn't need another man watching her."

I nod. "I can do that."

Ghost picks up his coffee again. "If she's carrying something that heavy..."

He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't need to. We'll find out soon enough.

CHAPTER THREE

lilah

The smell hits me before my brain catches up. "Shit." Smoke curls up from the toaster, and I stab the cancel button and pull the bagel free. One side's black, the other isn't much better. I stare at it for a second before dropping it into the trash.

I've never burnt breakfast before.

The kettle starts whistling. I pour the coffee and lean against the kitchen counter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I barely slept after the nightmare. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucy. Every time I started drifting off, I'd hear a noise from somewhere in the building and my heart would be racing before I was fully awake.

The apartment across the hall door clicks shut. I don't even realize I've moved toward the window until I'm standing in front of it.

Tempest steps out of the building a few moments later. I'd noticed his road name stitched above the pocket of his leather cut months ago, even if we'd barely spoken before yesterday. He twirls his keys around one finger as he heads toward the motorcycle parked at the curb. He pulls on his helmet, swings a leg over the bike, and the engine rumbles to life a second later.

I watch until he disappears around the corner. My coffee has gone cold. I blink and look down at the mug in my hand.

What am I doing? I don't make a habit of watching my neighbors; I don't even know his last name. The only thing I know about him is that he steps back when I need space. That shouldn't matter, but it does, and I hate that it does. With a sigh, I pour the cold coffee down the sink, make another bagel, actually paying attention to it this time, and finish getting ready for work.

I grab my keys and my bag before heading out. The hallway's empty. I lock the apartment, test the handle once, then head downstairs. I alternate between walking and driving to work. Today, I need groceries after my shift, so the car wins.

The parking lot is already filling up. I unlock my car, glance into the back seat before climbing in, then lock the doors behind me.

Another habit, one I don't think I'll ever break. I pull out into the morning traffic, the radio filling the silence with voices I don't really listen to.

Most mornings, I use the drive to clear my head; today, it only gives my thoughts somewhere to wander. I keep thinking about my neighbor, not because he's handsome—he’s beyond handsome—or because he’s the first man I've spoken to in years. But because he noticed that I froze on the apartment steps and that I needed space, which he gave me without asking for an explanation. He just... stepped back.

The light ahead turns red, and I stop behind a line of cars and tap my fingers against the steering wheel. My mind whirling, maybe it didn't mean anything, maybe that's just who he is. The light changes and I drive the rest of the way to the florist wondering why I can't stop thinking about the man that lives next door to me.

I park outside the florist and by the time I switch off the engine, I've almost convinced myself I won't think about him again.

Cara is already in the back when I arrive, stripping leaves from a bucket of eucalyptus. She looks up over the top of her glasses as I hang my coat and pull on my apron. "You look terrible," she says softly, her eyes gazing over me as she assesses me.

"Good morning to you too," I reply a little sassily.

"How much did you sleep?"

I shrug. "Enough."

She gives me a look of disbelief, but thankfully, doesn’t press the matter. “There's fresh coffee on."

I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”