Sneak Attack (Tapped Out 2)

“I know.” I gripped his wrist and held on. “Baby, I know.”

He shut his eyes for a moment. Two. When he opened them again, they were clearer. “We have work, then we’re going back to the gym. You doing okay?”

Such an innocuous question. I felt another laugh bubbling up, but I squelched it by reminding myself the conversation I would have to have with my aunt was far from funny. My amusement wasn’t arising from true humor anyway.

More from the absolute what-the-fuck that consisted of my life.

“I’m good,” I told him, and it was only partially a lie. Like some of the other things I hadn’t shared with him lately.

My caller hadn’t made contact this morning. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that maybe that phase was over. Instead I was wondering from which angle they’d come at me next.

“You sure?” His lips twitched. “Ms. Millionaire.”

“Don’t even start.” But I was smiling back when I touched my mouth to his. For an instant, everything faded away. The incessant honking outside the car, the street noises, the bustle of life in the city that never even napped, never mind slept.

There were just warm lips, and soft sighs, and the fact that I loved and was loved in return.

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“I gotta go to work, baby,” he said, sighing as he pulled back. He trailed his hand over my hair. “Don’t wanna. Would rather go curl up in our bed and—”

I grinned. “Don’t you mean our sleeping bag?”

“I don’t mind curling up there either.” His eyebrow waggle was nothing short of lascivious.

Laughing, I eased back. “Go to work, sex maniac. I’ll see you later.”

He nodded, waiting a beat. Then he said the words I was waiting for, the ones I knew were coming. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said, scrambling out of the car and shutting the door on his laughter.

So I hadn’t mastered the romantic version of the statement yet. At least I could say it now. Occasionally.

I went upstairs to our apartment and found a note from Tray’s mom. She was following a lead on a job and would be back later. I smiled, setting it aside. Good for her. I didn’t know if she’d ever worked outside the home, so this was a big step for her. Lots of big steps, all stacking up at once.

Tray wasn’t ready to believe that she was really making a clean break this time, but I was trying to have enough faith for both of us.

After I doublechecked I hadn’t missed a text from Carly about how school was going—I hadn’t—I sat down on the couch and debated what to do with my rare couple hours of free time before work. Tray normally would’ve had class tonight after his shift, but he was blowing it off to help me train. I’d tried to dissuade him, and it had worked about as well as my attempts to dissuade him usually did.

Unless sex was involved, most of the time I struck out.

I tugged his laptop onto my lap, intending just to mindlessly surf a bit. I needed to chill for a while and not think about anything. Just veg. Maybe I’d go on YouTube and watch some cat videos. They were usually good for a laugh.

The news ticker at the side of Tray’s browser homepage caught my eye.

Bronx girl, 8, missing for three days. Family seeks public’s help.

That was the last thing I should click on. Even knowing it didn’t stop me. That article drew me like people were drawn to stare at car crashes. The awfulness was exactly what made it impossible to ignore.

Biting my lip, I clicked and read.

The eight-year-old, Miranda, had been playing in her front yard while her mother took care of the baby inside. Her mother hadn’t been gone for more than a few moments, just long enough to change her son’s diaper. By the time she returned, little Miranda was gone, her bicycle’s wheels still spinning in the gutter where she’d dropped it.

Neighbors had seen a brown van pulling away from the scene. A balding man behind the wheel. Nondescript. Jersey plates.

Three days she’d been gone. Long enough for unspeakable horrors to transpire, while she was still alive to transcribe them for others to cry and whisper over. Or they might become locked in her own head, never to escape.

She could be dead. Could be worse than dead. Three days was a lifetime. I knew that better than anyone.