“No.” I shake my head. “Nope.”
“You’re very difficult to bond with,” she says, sounding like she’s being strangled. “Fine.” Before I register her actions, she’s moving away from me. Taking her apples smell along with her. “I’ll get out of your way for now…”
As she walks toward the door, she crosses a floorboard and it’s subtle, very subtle, but one end of it lifts, as if it’s not attached at the joint. Unfortunately, Taylor sees it, too.
We both lunge for the loose piece of wood at the same time, prying it up together…
And revealing a thin, white envelope.
Taylor
Shock knocks me backwards onto my butt.
Who finds a loose floorboard with a hidden envelope on the other side? In real life?
This doesn’t even happen on Etched in Bone.
Unless it does happen. And the public never finds out, because the person who finds a hidden letter is definitely the next victim. Are we going to open this envelope and find some taunting, Sam Berkowitz-style ramblings?
“What the hell…” Myles mutters, reaching down and plucking the envelope from its hidey hole. And he doesn’t manage to hide his concern when he looks at me. “You should really go, Taylor.”
He’s probably right.
This is getting creepy.
I discovered a body thirty yards from this spot and if I’m being honest, something hasn’t felt right since the moment I clocked the peepholes. I’m supposed to be on a relaxing vacation with my brother, but instead I can feel myself sinking deeper into the unfamiliar.
But I’m not freaking out. I’m just a little scared.
And once again, the world isn’t ending.
Maybe I have the same fortitude as everyone else. Or more.
I’ll never know if I run away now. I’ll go back to being safe, reliable, routine-oriented Taylor on her hunt for a safe, reliable, routine-oriented life partner. Or I could stay here and find out what’s in the envelope.
Of course I have to stay.
I might even have to send an email to Etched in Bone about this. Unless it’s a grocery list that accidentally slipped through the cracks of a loose floorboard? Something tells me that’s not the case. And when Myles slips out a piece of paper, unfolds it and scans the contents, his mouth flattening into a grim line, my theory is confirmed.
It’s definitely something.
Myles starts to tuck it into the pocket of his shirt without showing it to me—and uh-uh. That’s not happening. Now that I’ve made the decision to stay and investigate, he’s not depriving me of the opportunity to process new evidence. I make a lunge for it, across his lap. He’s not expecting it, either. Neither would anyone who has ever met me, but I’m pretty sure my students would be cheering their little faces off.
I pluck the letter out of his blunt fingers in mid-air—a move that I didn’t really think through. Not all the way. Because I land face down across his thighs with an oof. Knowing I probably only have three seconds before he wrestles the letter back, I scan the hastily scrawled words on the sheet of paper as quickly as possible.
You’re going down with me.
They’re all going to know who you are.
I’ve known all along, but it won’t be my secret much longer.
I’ve only just finished the final threatening line when Myles moves, reaching over the top of me to steal back the letter and I twist to the right, free falling from my position on his lap. With a curse, he tries to catch me, sliding a burly arm beneath me to cushion my fall—and that is how I end up on my back, face up, with two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle on top of me. I must be operating on pure pride now, because I make a silly attempt to hold the letter above my head, out of his reach, arching my back to extend as far as possible.
Reach, reach—
His groan rends the air.
I’m breathless, halfway to laughing, because me trying to keep anything from this mean, professional hunter of humans is comical, but…suddenly there is nothing funny about our positions. Nothing whatsoever. His hips weigh down on mine, fastening me to the floor. A telltale ridge grows between us with every panting breath we exchange. I look down between our bodies, reluctantly eager to catalogue our size difference. How he looks on top of me. I think I know what I’m going to find, but the actuality of what I see is staggering.
My breasts are almost free of the romper. Free of the bikini top I’m wearing underneath. The neckline has been tugged down in our struggle and I’m all but exposed, my nipples on the verge of making a very enthusiastic appearance. Yes, enthusiastic, because they are rock hard and throbbing with more and more awareness the longer this man, this huge, visibly frustrated man, keeps his weight on top of me. It’s not just our size difference that occurs to me in this moment. It’s the fact that he’s older, by at least eight years. Undoubtedly more experienced with sex. Intimacy. And he’s dangerous. Mean and dangerous and I’m underneath him, tempting him. Giving him a stone solid erection.