Page 33 of The Knight

No, of course it isn't true. It's impossible for Blake Lee to loveanybody.He's a cold bastard who feels nothing. If he's telling the truth, he's mistaken about what he feels. Probably he just thought I was a little cute and mistook the feeling for love because he's never had a single affectionate emotion in his life.

Yes, that must be it. He's overreacting to a little tiny bit of attraction. Soon enough he'll realize he was wrong and remember that he loathes me completely. If anything, it makes sense that he'd mistaken his loathing for something like love—the dolt has probably never felt anything as intense as hatred before.

Reassured by my line of reasoning, I return to surveying the airport across the street. The camera the boys sent along with the car is heavy in my hands, a telephoto lens hanging off the end of it, capable of seeing impossibly far into the distance. Raising the screen up a bit, I roll down the window and aim the lens towards the airport hanger door as a figure moves in the distance. With the help of a 600mm lens—the kind of thing that only paparazzi use to take creepy photos of actors—I'm able to zoom in on the figure and see a few details.

It isn't Hass. I snap a few photos anyway, a simple one second hold on the shutter engaging the lens over a dozen times. This camera was made for someone who isn't me—a private detective maybe, or someone with the money to replace it if it's broken. No doubt thousands of dollars worth of equipment is in my hands, and I'm lucky to have it, because otherwise I'd have to use my camera phone and get close enough to wind up caught.

"You know," Blake says, startling me with the suddenness of his voice after so long spent not talking, "the normal response to a confession of feelings is some kind of sentiment in return, positive or negative. At least a 'thank you' if things are awkward. Not a denial followed by complete silence."

I stare at him, open-mouthed. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this."

"Yeah, well, I'm talking about it." He narrows his eyes at me, and I wonder how he's convinced himself that he has feelings for me, given the irritation that flashes across his movie-ready face. "You're an odd girl, you know that, right?"

"Which is exactly why you're wrong about how you feel." I sneak a quick glance at the camera's screen, swinging it out and towards me, but the man in the hanger is just standing there, lighting a cigarette. No crimes afoot—yet. "I mean, we kissed once. We've never even spent any significant time together."

"Except all those lunches. Calculus classes. One-on-one tutoring."

"Yeah, well, that's not... not the same."

"As?"

"Dating," I shoot back. "Even Tanner and I went on a date, even if it was just part of your little games that you played with me."

"Are you saying that you have feelings for Tanner?" There's a cold, aggressive tone in his voice, one that makes me glad the senator's son isn't here right now. Blake sounds like he would stab him if given enough reason—or any reason at all. "I should have known. Every girl falls for that bonehead. Did you know he once drank his own piss on a dare?"

"Ido nothave feelings for Tanner, and gross." I have to shake my head to get the image Blake just left there out of it. "Can we please just focus on what we're here to do? Because I'm pretty sure that's Hass's plane landing, sex slaves and all."

"Fine, act all business if that's what you want. But this isn't over."

It sounds like a threat more than anything. Lucky me—I've got a suitor with issues. As Blake returns to not-reading his book, I observe him in the rearview mirror, wondering why it is that he's suddenly attached himself to me. Maybe it's guilt. He clearly wants something back from me in exchange for his confession, and I don't know what to say or do about that.

Observing the strong lines of his jaw, the pout of his lips, how his sleek black hair falls into his face in pieces, which he sweeps back with an impatient rake of his fingers every few minutes or so, I'm suddenly struck by how much morealivehe looks when he doesn't know anyone is watching. All the statue has drained out of him as he skims the book in his hands, and without the stiffness there, what's left behind is just a boy.

A handsome, complicated, often cold boy who claims he's falling in love with me.

Blake's eyes flick up to meet mine in the rearview mirror, and a butterfly flutters in my stomach. He still has his real, vulnerable face on, and for a moment he looks like the kind of boy whose arms I could fall asleep between, dreaming of safety and security, knowing he'll still be holding me when I wake up.

The moment passes, and the cold statue of Blake Lee returns. Clearing his throat, he observes, "The plane is landing. You should probably take some photographs."

Startling back into action, I aim the telephoto lens at the airport runway as a small passenger plane drops out of the sky. It puts down its landing gear and skids down the runway, heading towards us with impossible speed, then slowing down bit by bit.

Pulling the camera up, I click photos, unsure if this part will matter to the investigation, but certain enough that the camera has space on its card for anything I want to shoot.

"You know, there's a good chance even this won't take Hass down," Blake says, in a distant yet bitter tone of voice. "Do you know how powerful his family is? They own half the political influence in America."

Gritting my teeth, I point out, "You're not helping. So hush."

He grumbles, but falls silent as I roll the window down further. The door on the side of the little plane is opening, and someone is getting out. I can't get a good angle from just outside the car, so I hang the camera outside the open window, one hand supporting underneath it, the other depressing the trigger.

The door opens, and a large man walks through, tugging a skinny, pale blonde girl behind him.

I depress the shutter, adrenaline coursing through me, tasting victory.

But I put too much enthusiasm into it.

With a sound like my heart breaking in two, the camera falls to the ground, and the lens shatters—ruining all my hopes and dreams in an instant.

Chapter 14

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