Page 43 of Dead Set on You
He’s leaning against the counter, wearing another form-fitting tee (because he clearly shops at Muscles N’ More) and dark-wash jeans. Cristina, oblivious to the enemy in our midst, wipes down the windows, her back to him.
“Ah, we need to have faith,” Cristina says, her tone comforting. As ifheneeds to be comforted. “And pray. I always sayPrayer is powerful.”
“So does my grandmother.”
“Grandmothers are smart like that,” she says. Rafael nods and casts his gaze around. I duck before he can spot me, my heart thumping in my chest.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m the one hiding like I’m here to rob the place when it’s Rafael who shouldn’t be here. Unless he’s here to admit he’s somehow tied to my predicament and come to help put me back together. If there’s some profuse apologizing in there, he’ll definitely be on the right track.
Feeling much better, I shoot to my feet, smooth out the dress, and tousle my hair.
Game time.
I step from around the corner and almost crash into him. Rafael stops short of walking through me. His hands dart out to steady me, but they slip right through me, like mist.
We both jerk back.
I scowl, rubbing at my arms. “What the hell!”
“Evie,” he says, like he’s learning my name for the first time.
“Evie?” Cristina repeats from the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” I arch a brow in suspicion. Without my stilettos, the effect is diminished, but missing a few inches has never held me back.
Rafael shifts. “I was just …”
“Hoping to gather some intel?” I finish for him.
He inhales deeply. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m here to ask Cristina about types of cleaning supplies so I can use them for my nefarious means.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you. The job’s halfway done.” I poke the bear.
He grumbles. “You’re so …”
“Right?”
“Righteous.”
“Rafael?” Cristina appears behind Rafael, her brow crinkling in concern. “Are you all right?”
“No, he’s not,” I answer on his behalf, hating that she can’t hear me. “He hasn’t been all right for a moment in his entire life.” It’s a bit of a lie. There were brief, brief moments of Rafael being anall righthuman (so brief they don’t count).
“Yes,” he responds, shifting from one leg to the other, the way he does when he’snotall right. “Just … it’s like she’s here.”
I roll my eyes. Cristina sighs, planting a hand on her hip. “I feel her too.”
“You do?” Rafael and I ask at the same time.
Hope has me swooping around him and placing myself between them. I’m inches from her face, but she looks beyond me—through me—at Rafael.
“Yes, of course. I can still smell her perfume. Her books are the same way she left them. Some days I think I will hear her on the way to work. Always rushing to be on time but never leaving without saying good morning or asking about my girls.” Cristina sighs. “She is truly an angel.”
I stiffen at her choice of words.
“Yes,” he says, and I can almost hear him want to addand other things, but he’s smart—or scared—enough not to.
Cristina’s arm darts out, cutting through the air so fast I barely get out of the way. I flatten my body as close to the wall as possible without touching it. Her hand falls onto Rafael’s shoulder and squeezes.
