Page 39 of Swept for Forever
But would it be enough to keep Stiff-Neck from ever finding out who I was?
Enough to keep Mom and my friends clear of the fallout?
I pressed my hands together and prayed like hell that it was.
People said to trust your first instinct. Mine told me Stiff-Neck wasn’t just dangerous. He was calm and calculated, and he had reach. Going to the cops would trigger movement. And once he felt cornered, he’d come for me.
Sometimes it was smarter to leave things buried. I wasn’t about to shine a light on myself or drag anyone else in. He could keep his money, gold, or whatever illicit treasure he was hoarding. I just needed to avoid him.
Somethingin the IV must’ve finally knocked me out, or maybe it was just my body giving in. Either way, it wasn’t long after I came to that a knock sounded on the door.
“Autumn, can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Dom walked in carrying a bowl of steaming hot soup, and for a second, I wasn’t sure what was sparking my lust—the food or the man serving it. After days of running on sheer willpower, the soup smelled downright sinful.
“It’s from Buffaloberry Hill’s harvest shop,” he said, setting it down on the tray table. “Best in town. Handmade croutons, too.”
I stared at it. Then at him. “You’re bribing me with soup.”
“Bribing?” He scoffed. “I’m offering you an experience.”
I lifted a brow but didn’t say anything.
“Fine,” he added. “If you stick around long enough, I’lltake you there myself. Mrs. Sutton makes a killer soup, although she’s most famous for her pies. But her latest summer hit?” He gave me a look like he was about to confess to liking scented candles. “Honey-garlic glazed meatballs over garden veggie rice. That dish could start a cult.”
Yuuuh.I was already tempted.
“You’re not eating?” I asked.
“I had pie earlier.”
I gasped. “And you didn’t get me one? What kind of monster eats pie alone?”
Dom smirked. “Sick people eat soup.”
“I’m not sick, Dom.”
He gestured at my IV. “You’re literally hooked up to hospital juice. Trust me, the soup’s just as good, if not better.”
I scoffed dramatically, lifting a spoonful to my lips. “Doubt it.” Then I took a cautious sip, and…holy hell. Even my mom would’ve asked for the recipe.
Dom chuckled. “Uh-huh.”
I huffed but gave him a side smile, almost an apology. “So, were you born and bred here?” I asked, blowing on the soup.
“No.”
“Thought so. You’re too sharp to be a small-town lawyer.”
His brow lifted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You talk about morally gray areas like a guy who’s been in the trenches. That’s not exactly small-town thinking.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’d be surprised. But fair enough. The crowd here isn’t like the one in L.A.”
I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth. “So you’re not even local, and yet you talk like you’re the mayor?”
