Page 82 of Half the Summer's Night
“There’s also Rowan,” I say quickly, even though shame flushes in my chest. “We’ve been hanging out. I can ask him to stay with me until—until this all blows over.”
Penelope leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. The trees behind her sway back and forth. “I’m glad you’re getting some dick, but I’d rather you not depend on some random dude.”
I think of Nameless, big and strong and towering over my first attacker.
“He’s not some random dude,” I finally say, although I’m not talking about Rowan.
“Yeah, well, you’ve known us longer.” Penelope pauses, wrapping a lock of her brown hair around one finger. “What if you go stay with Chloe for a while? Get out of Texas. She just inherited that big lake house from her grandparents, so she has the room.”
That idea feels even worse. Then I’d have no protector, and I’d put Chloe in danger, too.
“And if the killer follows me?” I say. “I really think it’s better for me to stay here.”
“Abi.” Penelope says my name with the air of a mom losing her patience. “I love you, but you’re being stupid.” She points at her screen. “I mean, these fucking deaths—it’s obviously about you. What happened when you were sixteen.”
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter.
Penelope slumps back, staring at me through the screen. “You’re not telling me something,” she says flatly. “Aren’t you? There’s something else.”
A million alarm bells go off in my head. A million images flash through my thoughts.
“I just can’t leave,” I say, my voice shaky. “I can’t risk putting either of you in danger.”
“So you’re just going to hang out in that big-ass house by yourself?” Penelope squawks. “And hope the police will protect you?”
“Not the police.” I say it without thinking, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I fucked up.
“What?” Penelope says. “You just told me they were giving you a guard. Who else would it be? Rowan?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Some guy who runs a hotel?”
Worse than that. A million times worse. But I nod. “I’ll be fine, Penny. Really.”
Penelope stares at me through the screen. “I want you to call me,” she says darkly. “Every fucking night. Me and Chloe. Do you understand?”
“I thought you weren’t going to have Internet access.”
“Then call fucking Chloe.”
I take a deep breath and look past my computer and out at the examination room. The lights have switched off, but I can still make out the gleam of metal.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll call y’all every night.”
“And don’t trust the police.” Penelope’s eyes gleam. “Seriously, Abi. You’re better off trusting this Rowan guy.”
Hearing Rowan’s name sours in my thoughts. God, I wish I could be honest with her.
But I know I can’t.
30
ROWAN
Ican not believe I’m doing this, riding shotgun in a rented Honda Civic with a woman who isn’t Abilene Snow.
Charlotte hums along to the music playing softly in the background. Some mournful female singer backed by orchestral swells. I study Charlotte’s profile through my killing face, looking at the family resemblance. She doesn’t look anything like my mother, that’s true. But she really does kind of look like me.
