Page 32 of The Two Last Moments

“Anybody has wrinkles when they make that face.”

“Danny, I’m serious.” She leans in closer to me. Her long hair falls forward, brushing my arm, and a shutter of desire moves through me and throbs in my balls.

Oh, damn.

Without my permission, my hand reaches up, my thumb caressing down her cheek. Her pupils dilate, the rest of her going still.

Since the moment I met Lark, I’ve been touching her. In the hospital, I held her hand. Put my arm around her shoulders to help her stay calm. But now, touching her somehow has more gravity to it. Like it means something else now that she’s standing steadier on her own two feet.

Shit, what were we talking about?

How old she is. Right.

“You’re no older than fifty-five,” I say.

“You’re a dork.”

“You disagree? You’reolderthan fifty-five?”

“Fine, you can joke about it. But how am I supposed to get an ID or a driver’s license if I don’t know how old I am? If I try to order a drink at a bar, I can’t even prove I’m over twenty-one. Maybe I’m a lot younger, but I’ve lived a really hard life.”

So that’s what she’s worried about. “If that’s true, it means you’re a survivor. That’s something to be proud of. But we’re going to find your family, and when we do, we’ll find out. I don’t have a single doubt about it.”

I have to keep reminding myself of those facts. I have no right to lay a claim to this girl, even inside my own head.

“Then I wish they’d hurry up. It’s been almost four days since the accident. I don’t want to stay so long that you get sick of me.”

“I doubt that will happen, but I get what you mean. Nothing worse than being the idiot who sticks around when you’re not wanted.” I’m speaking offhand, thinking about my own crap. But when I look up, Lark is frowning, her eyes cast down and to the side. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean you. You could never be—”

My phone rings. It’s over on the workbench, closer to Lark. She glances at the screen. “Angela’s calling. You should probably answer.”

I’m feeling like an asshole for what I said. But she’s right.

I stand up and grab the phone. “Hey, Angela. What’s up?”

“Danny. I tried calling your landline, but the nurse said Lark wasn’t inside. Is she with you?”

“Yeah. She’s right here. I can put the phone on speaker.”

“Do that.”

I hit the button. “Lark can hear you now.”

“Hi, Angela. What is it?” Lark asks.

“I just got off the phone with your aunt. We’ve found your family. We know who you are.”

12

“Her name is Kathy Sullivan,” Angela says. “She’s your aunt by marriage.”

“So she claims,” Danny cuts in. He’s standing behind me, one hand gripping the back of the chair that I’m sitting in.

I look at the picture of an auburn-haired woman. She’s got feathered bangs, a friendly smile. She makes me think of a middle school teacher. Or a mother-hen nurse like Starla.

We’re in Angela’s office at West Oaks PD headquarters. Angela has on another dress, empire-waisted to allow room for her baby bump, but she’s paired it with a gray blazer. She was so low key when I met her a few days ago, but here, where we’re surrounded by cops and guns and handcuffs, she seems far more intimidating.

Or maybe it’s just the situation. The police make me nervous anyway, even when they’re trying to help me. I’m a problem to be handled. A lost person in search of her family.

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