Page 56 of Brutal
“No.”
That’s a fucking lie, and I’m pretty sure she knows it because she stops walking.
So do I.
Now we’re standing near a tiled pillar halfway down the platform, far enough from the others to have a bit of privacy but not enough for anything to look unusual from a distance.
She faces me. “Are you going to tell me what you were really doing at the marina last night?”
“Watching you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I smirk. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She lifts her chin. “I don’t believe that.”
I take one step closer. Not enough to trap her but enough to make her feel how large I am. How, with one strike, I could end her.
“You’re following a trail now,” I say. “You’re not just asking questions.”
“What trail?” she asks.
“The one that took you into that municipal building.” I drop my gaze briefly to the strap of her bag.
“Locks don’t get replaced for no reason,” she says, and I can’t quite tell if she’s speaking to me or herself.
I don’t reply.
A train barrels through on the opposite side, roaring past. Wind blasts across the platform hard enough to snap her coat against her legs. Her hair lifts again and dark strands whip across her cheek before falling back into place. She doesn’t move to fix it. She just stands there looking at me.
“Tell me where I’m supposed to be looking,” she says.
I place my hands on her shoulders. “Level with me. Why? Why are you pulling at this fifteen-year-old thread?”
“Victor Halstead didn’t go over that railing because of rain,” she says.
I don’t confirm it. I don’t deny it.
“The weather mattered less than the timing,” I say.
She wriggles out of my grasp. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re asking the wrong questions.”
She steps closer. “Then ask me the right one.”
A station announcement crackles overhead, garbled and mostly useless.
Neither of us moves.
I can smell her perfume under the grit of the station—something clean and citrusy with a darker note under it. Patchouli, maybe. I don’t like that I notice.
I like even less that I want to lean in and sniff the curve of her throat.
The train headlights appear in the tunnel. She glances toward them and then back at me.
The train pulls in with a shriek. Doors slide open. People step off. People step on.
