Page 27 of Lamb

“By me.”

“That’s even worse,” Jax gasped with a dramatic flair. “Poor guy.”

“I offered to help him escape,” I continued, ignoring the petulant man.

“Let me guess”—Jax sighed—“in exchange for a favor.”

“Everybody is useful.” I pried open the lid. I could see photographs and files—some new and crisp; others older,softened and wrinkled from years of prying through, revisited time and time again. “If you know how to use them.”

“Right. Thanks for that lesson, Satan,” Jax grumbled, giving the box a bored look. “Is that everything you were after?”

“It’s a start.” I pulled open my saddlebag, took the box, and pushed the contents into one side.

“Good. I want to get out of here.” Jax scanned the horizon, his body tauter with every passing moment. “I don’t like being this exposed. And this place is for sure haunted.”

I looked back toward the gas station, wind whistling through a broken window, a hanging sign creaking, and the absent whisper of even the smallest wildlife. I could see how he got that impression.

“Let’s go,” I said, slinging my leg over my seat, settling into the familiar weight of my bike between my thighs.

Jax was already saddled on his own, his engine rumbling to life with a flick of his wrist. He pulled a set of shades from his pocket, sliding them onto his face before kicking back his stand and moving toward the road.

I followed, giving one last look at the abandoned station. For a moment, my eyes caught a glimpse of something in the window, but when I turned to get a closer look, it was gone.

Must have been a trick of the light.

I pulled up behind Jax as we turned onto the road, happy to get the tarmac flying beneath us and leave Nowhere-Ville behind.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

No response.

I shifted the tray of food into one hand, my other slipping the key into the lock.

“I’m coming in,” I announced, flicking my wrist. The key protested for a moment, fighting at a quarter turn. But with a little bit more effort, the resistance gave, the lock clicked, and the door opened with a gentle push.

I slid the key into my pocket before stepping inside.

Drawn curtains smothered the evening dusk, while a soft breeze stirred the drapes, giving home to the autumn chill.

Despite the cold, the girl lying in bed didn’t rouse. Her hair was a mess, tangled and knotted over the white silk pillows, the thick sheets draped over her slim body. Something tightened in my chest, an unsettling unease as she remained undisturbed.

I placed the tray on the sideboard, the soup and bread joining the other cold, neglected meal from the morning.

I turned back, reaching to shut the door behind me. I paused.

My hand lay on the door handle, catching a glimpse of the small scratches etched around the keyhole.Sneaky little mouse …

I folded my lips between my teeth to smother my smile, picked up the low-ball glass from the tray, and headed across the plush carpet.

I settled on the side of the bed, and at last caught a glimpse of the weary, milky eyes I had begun to miss. It had only been a day, but I sensed my internal change.

Not being welcomed in my home was not a new experience. My relationship with my parents had dissipated over time as the differences between me and other children became more apparent. I hadn’t minded it. It was hard to love a child who could not love you back. I understood that.

Either way, my concept of home was warped in the eyes of many. I returned to take care of my needs, and that was all. Inever needed to linger or shelter myself between the four walls. I only returned when it was necessary.

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