“I don’t think so. And I’ll get you some shower mitts. When you need things, please ask. If anyone understands weird requests, it’s us.”
She’s quiet, and then she hurriedly says, “I’m nodding. Thank you.”
When Cole returns, Sadie’s made a list for him, and he goes right back out. By the time he’s finished it’s late, but the shower is running and I collapse on the bed, relieved. “Oh, thank goodness. Being in a car with her was horrible. Poor little thing.”
Cole sighs, and I feel the bed shift as he sits next to me. “Every time she touches anyone? Including herself?”
“Yup. Sucks to be her.”
His breathing slows, gets even, and I think he’s falling asleep. I take a pillow and start sliding off the bed, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. “I’ll take the floor,” he says.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry for so much more. I know how stressed out I make you. And—” My throat catches. “I’m so sorry about Sarah. I can’t help feeling like it was my fault. Please don’t tell me it wasn’t.”
Cole’s voice comes out softer than I’ve ever heard it. There’s no edge, none of the sharp steel and stone I know in it. “I’m sorry about her, too. But it wasn’t your fault.”
He lets go of my wrist and moves to the floor. Lying on the bed, I have a sudden, overwhelming urge to crawl off and curl up next to him. It hits me how much I’ve come to depend on him, but it’s different than it was with Fia. I feel like depending on him makes me stronger, not more helpless.
“T
hank you,” I whisper, and the words hang on the air between us. It’s not enough, but I can’t figure out how to voice anything else.
By the time Sadie comes out I’m half asleep, but the scent of shampoo and soap makes me smile as I drift off.
I’m woken as light bursts behind my eyes.
In the vision, Sadie is on a black leather couch in a window-lined room. There’s a glass door open to a balcony overlooking a skyscraper-filled skyline. She’s curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked protectively in front of her chest. Her face is empty as she stares at the floor.
A heavy door opens and two people enter the room. One, carefully handsome James, something tight and frightened around his eyes but not showing in his broad smile.
The other is Phillip Keane.
And then a third person comes in and my heart twists to see Fia, my Fia, but something is wrong with her. She looks from Sadie to Phillip Keane and back again, slides along the wall next to the door. James gives her a sharp, expectant expression.
The line of her eyes shifts them into a shape I don’t recognize.
Something is very, very wrong with Fia.
Phillip Keane smiles his soulless robot smile, and says, “Hello, Sadie.”
Fia spasms once, twice, as though she can’t quite move. Then she pushes Phillip Keane out of the way, jumps in front of Sadie, and stabs her in the chest.
Sadie looks down, her eyes sad but not surprised.
“She was going to—” Fia stands up straight, drops the knife. “She was going to—kill—she was going to kill . . .” Fia looks back at James, her blue eyes pleading and impossibly sad, and then something in them dies. Fia’s expression drops away and she drifts to the balcony.
“Fia?” James says, his voice tight with panic.
Fia climbs onto the stone railing and jumps off.
FIA
Eleven Hours Before
I DON’T CALL JAMES UNTIL I’M OUT ON THE SIDEWALK, weaving through the masses of people, losing my security tail without much effort.