Page 191 of Offside Devil

I throw up my hands. “I have no fucking idea. Some guy was calling Hanna looking for Mira. He said he was her family, and the folder said she has an older brother. I’m guessing it might be him.”

“You thinking of arranging a little family reunion?”

I don’t know Dante Costa, but the way he sounded on the phone makes me think the baby apple didn’t fall far from the daddy apple tree. Mira is probably better off without anyone in her family finding her.

“I think I need to see her,” I tell him. “One last time.”

“‘One last time.’ If I had a fookin’ nickel…” Owen smirks and raises his mug. “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

77

MIRA

I think I’m gonna throw up.

My hour-long shower, the three times I pulled over on the way here, and the whispered pep talk I had to give myself in the reflective handle of the stairwell door has done absolutely nothing to ease the anxiety swirling in my stomach.

I’m about to see Zane, and I want to run in the other direction.

He asked me to be here. That’s a good sign, right?

Well, it could be.

It could also be a harbinger of heartbreak and devastation.

I’m leaning towards option number two when the door opens and Zane is standing in front of me.

God, he’s handsome.

His blonde hair is wet and tousled away from his face. A blast of wintergreen and body wash hits me, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in like an inhaler.

“Hi.” My voice is a barely-there whisper.

He steps to the side. “Come in.”

Taylor told me a kickass outfit would make me feel more confident, so I put on my fire engine red sundress and gold sandals. I should have gone with chainmail, though. Maybe a goalie mask. Even a little padding would make me feel better. Because I can’t even meet Zane’s eyes as I walk past him.

Up until a week ago, this was my home. I had a hook next to the door, a cushion on the couch, and a chair at the table. Little pieces of this place belonged to me.

Now, I hover in the entryway, too nervous to overstep. “The house looks the same. I mean—” I shake my head. “Obviously. It’s only been a week, I guess. It just feels longer.”

“A lot longer,” Zane agrees.

For a single second, I have hope that Zane is feeling the same way I am. Confused, sure, but also… lonely and yearning.

But then he says, “A lot has changed since then, too.”

I don’t even have a chance to ask what he means when he drops a manila folder on the coffee table.

I’m too scared to move closer. “What’s that?”

“This is a report from a private investigator I hired,” he says flatly. “It’s everything anyone could ever want to know about a woman named Katerina Costa.”

All at once, I feel dizzy.

That name on his lips—my name—is like being clubbed over the head. I blink and see stars.

I never thought, when my past caught up with me, that it would be Zane Whitaker’s face I was staring into.

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