Chapter 19

Blake

Three nights.

Three nights of sitting at the end of the bar at The Den with a club soda going flat in front of me, watching Neve Ashby carry trays.

I still don’t know what Dom thinks he’s doing. I’ve asked him twice. The first time, he told me I was the one worried she’d run. The second time, he just looked at me until I stopped asking. It’s a punishment, I’m pretty sure. I just can’t figure out which one of us he’s punishing.

The first two nights, at least, she behaved. She showed up when she was supposed to, in jeans and an oversized sweater and that ratty parka she won’t take off. She worked her tables. She didn’t talk to me, didn’t look at me, didn’t so much as glance at the back door. I sat there for six hours a night, waiting for her to bolt, and she never did.

I