Page 109 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“Of course.” He smiled and waved me inside. “I know my role.”

I got in the car and dried off with the towel. A short while later, the cops showed up along with a tow truck.

Within an hour, we were on the way back to my place. Neither of us speaking. The only sound in the car was the windshield wipers.

“Lindsey wasn’t behind those photos.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I know it. That’s not her style.”

He shifted to look at me. “Unless you’re thinking Lo. Little pre-reunion band publicity, maybe? Get his name back in the papers.”

“No. He would never.” Not with his past with the tabloids.

Besides, he hadn’t been the one in the pictures. It had been all me. And Lindsey, although she was the secret party.

“People do crazy things when they’re feeling ignored. He’s been on the fringes of the biz for a while.”

“Not possible.” I rubbed my bleary eyes. My head was a mess. A migraine loomed, and I couldn’t help trying to draw links between all the blanks in my memory of the night.

“Someone took them. They exist.”

I said nothing. They damn well existed, and the most likely culprit for who was behind them was sitting right beside me. But if that was the case, why would he point a freaking arrow right at himself?

“Maybe I should go to the hospital,” I mumbled.

I didn’t know why. I’d refused medical treatment at the scene. I hated doctors, especially since the crash with Kyle. But some part of me thought it was necessary.

Something was very wrong. With me or with Kyle, I didn’t know.

“Are you feeling worse? Why don’t I stay the night with you?” He kept right on driving toward my place without waiting for my reply.

“You’re not a physician. I could have a concussion.”

“With that hard he

ad of yours?” He chuckled. “I’ll hang out, make sure you’re okay. If you’re still feeling off, we’ll go in the morning.”

“Why not now?”

“Do you really want to risk an ER in the middle of the night? Want more photos of you out there circling? More questions? Wouldn’t you rather see your own doctor where you’re more likely to get some privacy?”

The barrage of questions only made my head squeeze like a fist. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. That makes sense.”

Only partially, but I wasn’t in any state to argue. Even sitting upright was a challenge.

As he approached my street, he slowed down. “We’ll go tomorrow if you want. I’ll drive you.”

I pressed my hot cheek against the window. I was so tired. “All right.”

Despite agreeing to it, I didn’t want him to stay. I wanted to be alone. In my own space. With my own thoughts. Maybe then I’d get some clarity back.

But he bedded down on the couch, and I was too exhausted to fight about it.

I fed Sarge and Brutus and took them out for the quickest walk known to man, then showered, dumped a handful of Tylenol down my throat, and climbed in bed.

A dozen hours later, the endless beeping of my phone jolted me out of a restless sleep.

---