“I remember that you always used to smell like vanilla and mint,” I recalled. It was true. Earlier, when I had opened Natasha’s closet to find something to wear, the memory of her scent had hit me like a ton of bricks. “That hasn’t changed,” I went on. “I also remember that you used to read Goodnight Moon to me.”
Natasha laughed, but it wasn’t enough to veil her subtle sniffle. “That book was the only thing that would get you to stop crying.”
“I kept the copy you left with me,” I told her. “It’s on the bookshelf at my apartment.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I ask you another question?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“What happened with you and Catherine Flynn?”
I knew it was a terrible transition. Natasha had opened up to me, and I had taken advantage of it. It was clear in the way she recoiled from me, her arm falling from my shoulders. Her face turned stony, and she clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
“Did Henry put you up to this?”
“No.”
The lie was obvious, but even if Henry hadn’t mentioned that Natasha seemed to have some kind of lingering connection to Flynn, I would have asked anyway. The rivalry between them had fueled a thirty-year-long war. It was a natural line of questioning.
“I have no idea why Henry would have told you that I still speak to Catherine,” said Natasha. She hoisted herself up from the porch steps. “That woman is made of poison. Don’t ask me about her again.”
“Wait—”
She made to go inside, but as she reached for the screen door, it squeaked open, and Henry emerged, his heavy work boots clunking across the porch.
“Got a call from Bill,” he reported, staring out at the dirt road. “Told me he saw some kid driving my truck and asked if he should call the cops. I told him go ahead.”
I swiveled around. “You what?”
Henry chuckled. “I’m kidding, darling. Just wanted to let you know that he’s on his way back. Should be pulling into the drive any moment now. Can’t wait to see what he got up to.”
Sure enough, not a minute later, the red pickup ambled down the dirt road before turning into the driveway. As Wes pulled up, determinedly avoiding eye contact with me through the windshield, I threw Natasha’s blanket off my shoulders and stomped down the porch steps.
“What the hell, Wes?” I demanded as he hopped down from the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. “Where have you been? I called you twenty times! You could’ve at least done the courtesy of picking up once to tell me that the Raptors hadn’t run you down with a semi-truck.”
He pulled me into a tight hug and kissed the top of my head. “Missed you too, baby.”
“Don’t give me that shit,” I said into his jacket, though I couldn’t help but sink into his arms. At least he was safe. “What the hell did you run off for?”
He let go of me, circled around to the back of the truck, and opened the tailgate. “This.”
Holden Hastings, his eyes wide and panicky, lay bound and gagged in the bed of the truck. When he saw me, he bucked back and forth, making quite a racket as his shoes thudded against the bed’s metal interior.
“Oh, Christ,” I said, covering my eyes as Henry and Natasha joined us to see what all the commotion was about.
As soon as Henry saw Holden, he seized Wes by the collar of his jacket and pinned him against the side of the truck. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Hey, let him go!” I grabbed Henry’s jean jacket and tried to drag him away from Wes, to no avail. “He’s still hurt.”
“If he’s well enough to make terrible decisions, he’s well enough to face the consequences of them,” growled Henry, his fists still wrapped in Wes’s jacket. Wes raised his hands above his head.
“Henry, let him be,” said Natasha, her voice tired.
Henry released Wes, who straightened out his police jacket before replying. “I heard your entire conversation from upstairs. It sounded to me like no one had a plan.” He pointed to Natasha. “You destroyed the tapes.” His index finger moved to Henry. “You just want to sit around and wait. I was the only one who actually came up with an idea to do something about this.”
“I had a damn plan, you fool!” roared Henry. He stepped into Wes’s personal space again, but Wes stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest and planting his feet in front of the tailgate as if to prevent Henry from getting any closer to Holden. “You may be a cop,” said Henry, “but you have no idea what the best plan of action is in a situation like this.”
“Plan of action?” Wes scoffed. “This coming from the man that’s been sitting on the same case for twenty-five years?”
“So you decided that the best idea was to go ahead and kidnap the dean’s son?”
That caused Wes’s confidence to falter. He looked at me. “He’s the dean’s son?”
“Yes,” I reluctantly confirmed.
“So when this goes poorly—and it will go poorly,” promised Henry. “It will be even more complicated to resolve. Do you want to go to jail, Weston?”
“I didn’t know who he was,” admitted Wes. “To be honest, I grabbed the first Raptor that I could get on his own.”
“Nice job, genius,” said Henry.
“All right, everyone settle down.” Natasha looked warily at Holden but kept her distance from the truck. “What’s done is done. Let’s deal with the problem at hand. Wes, what did you expect to do with, uh—”
“Holden Hastings,” I supplied. I had spent so much time studying the various members of the Raptors that their names were burned into the back of my brain. Not to mention, not long ago, Holden had attempted to throw me off the balcony of my own apartment.
“—with Mr. Hastings?” finished Natasha.
“We need information,” said Wes in a matter-of-fact tone. “We need to figure out a way to
