“I can’t be. You know the rules.”
Kaleb snorted. “That wouldn’t stop me.”
“I know. Besides, I’m not into her.” Michael’s voice was firm. Kaleb must have given him a doubtful look, because Michael repeated, “I’m not into her. I have my reasons.”
My stomach dropped a little.
“Brother, I can sense. I know. If this girl is as ‘amazing’ as you say she is, you’re just being stupid. But I keep forgetting, you’re all about chivalry and honor,” Kaleb said in a singsong voice.
“You should try it sometime,” Michael answered quietly.
“Just please don’t tell me you’re holding back because of Ava.”
“Kaleb,” Michael said, sounding frustrated, “I’ve already told you how things are with Ava—”
He stopped talking when light flashed on in one of the upstairs windows, throwing a yellow square on the stone terrace floor. “I’d better go back inside,” Kaleb said in a rushed voice. “Tell her—don’t treat her like a kid.”
“Go!” I heard Michael make a hissing sound through his teeth, and then a door closed.
The light in the upstairs window went off.
I sat for a minute, trying to process. I couldn’t swear they were discussing me; no one said my name. Call it massive paranoia, which was entirely possible, or incredible intuition—I was pretty sure I was the “she” in the conversation.
But who was the “he”?
Sneaking away from the terrace, I crept back the way I’d come. I didn’t hurry, giving Michael time to clear out so I could avoid running into him. As I neared the front of the house I got curious and peeked in one of the low windows.
On one wall hung several photographs. Even though they were lit from above, a strange reflection shone off the faces, making them hard to see. Scanning them one by one, I paused when I reached the last picture in the row. Something about the face seemed familiar. Before I could place it, another light went on inside the house, causing my shadow to stand out in sharp relief on the grass. I flattened myself against the wall until the light went off again, then I took off in the direction of the car, flinging the door open when I reached it.
I let out a scream.
Someone was already sitting there.
Chapter 21
Be quiet,” Michael whispered. “Are you trying to wake the dead?”
“What are you doing?” I managed to choke out, clutching my hand to my chest, my heart pounding.
He’d turned off the inside car lights, but I could still see his angry expression in the fading light. “I think the better question is what are you doing?”
I briefly considered telling him I was lost and tried to think fast. Nope, nothing. I shook my head, gasping for breath.
“How did you find me?”
“I wasn’t looking for you. I was looking for the Hourglass,” I said. “I got the address from the business cards on your bedside table.” Okay, not helpful. “Dru’s keys. Just sort of … there on my kitchen floor … needed me to let the couch guys into your loft. I’m sorry.”
Spies should be able to endure torture and still keep their secrets. I spilled mine out like pennies from a broken piggy bank.
Michael sighed and leaned back on the headrest. “Great. What else did you find?”
“Nothing really.”
Except a picture of a gorgeous girl and some notes written in code.
“It’s not safe for you to be here,” Michael said, reaching up to grip the steering wheel. “We need to get you off the property before anyone sees you.”
“You mean someone like Kaleb?”
“Kaleb is the least of your worries right now.”
“At least he thinks I should know what’s going on,” I taunted. “He’s never even met me, and he gives me more credit than you do.”
Michael shook his head in disgust and motioned to the seat beside him. “Get in.” When I didn’t move, he reached out with both hands to pull me across his lap, dumping me in the passenger seat. “Did they teach you to eavesdrop at boarding school, too?”
“What makes you think you can manhandle me?” The heat from his touch racing across my skin didn’t do a thing to cool me down. He cranked the car. I looked at his face, now fully illuminated from the light of the dash. “And I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was in the right place—okay,” I amended when he raised his eyebrows, “the wrong place at the right time.”
More head shaking.
Michael drove slowly down the long driveway, not switching on the headlights until we reached the main road. He turned in the opposite direction of Ivy Springs.
“What about your car?” I asked.
“We’ll pick it up on the way back.”
“On the way back from where?” Ah, my old friend, anxiety—throwing itself into the blender with sheer terror and embarrassment.
“My place,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Isn’t it in the same direction as my place?”
“No,” he answered with forced patience. “I meant I’m going back to my place at school. And you’re coming with me. There’s someone I need you to meet.”
“Can’t it wait? Who is it? You have a place at school?”
“Would you please stop asking questions for one second? I have to figure out how to handle this.” The tiny muscles in his jaw tightened.
I waited exactly one beat. “When you left today, why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”
Michael let out a loud groan of frustration. “Didn’t I just ask you to stop asking questions?”
“You asked me to stop for one second. You should have been more specific if you wanted longer.” Having a big brother taught me quite a bit about arguing with the intent to wear down my opponent. Like a rat terrier with a pork chop. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the Hourglass?”
“Well, Emerson, I obviously didn’t want you to follow me.” He turned up the radio in a noticeable ploy to silence me.
“I didn’t follow you. Exactly,” I argued, turning it back down.
“No, you invaded my privacy and then happened to end up at the one place I wanted you to avoid.” He kept his voice controlled, but anger simmered beneath the surface. “You should have stayed away.”
I briefly wondered if I should be afraid instead of mad. Michael had basically carjacked me and was driving somewhere unknown, against my will. That equaled kidnapping. I dug deep, searching for any indication I was scared.
Nope. Just pissed.
We turned down a small side street behind campus. The houses I could see were early-twentieth-century bungalow homes, all well appointed. We pulled into the driveway of one of the nicer ones. It boasted a low-pitched gabled roof, black shutters, and a wide front porch.
Michael came around to open my door. I didn’t move or speak as he took my bag and started for the house. When he realized I wasn’t with him, he turned back to the car, blowing out a gust of air that lifted the hair from his forehead. “Emerson? Don’t make me come and get you.”
I followed him to the front door.
I tiptoed behind him through a dark entryway into a high-ceilinged room with elaborate moldings and wooden floors. A long mahogany table in the back of the room boasted laptops and multiple mugs of coffee in different stages of use. He placed my bag on a side table and dropped down onto one of the leather couches.
