Page 70 of The Exit Strategy

Two more stairs, then three.

“There’s no lie here, Cole.” I say the words without turning around. “Sometimes we just sugarcoat the truth to make it more palatable.”

I hustle up the last remaining stairs.

“Goodnight, Cole.”

I open my door because I don’t bother locking it anymore. The residents of The Haven are better than a security system.

Tonight though, I don’t turn on my light.

I slink through the shadows to the window and stare down at the man standing at the bottom of my stairs withhis hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face tilted toward my window like he’s trying to read a language he almost understands.

But that’s the problem with almost—sometimes it just isn’t enough.

14

LOOK AT ME

COLE

She’sat the kitchen table when I come downstairs at 6:15, and my steps falter.

This isn’t her routine.

Something, or someone, has thrown her off her game, and yet she still doesn’t acknowledge me as she sits there with her knees tucked up to her chin. Her bare feet showcase hot-pink toenail polish on her delicate little toes.

She stopped wearing shoes in my home around week three, and I keep actively ignoring why that hits me in the chest like it should mean something.

Bare feet are just that.

Except with her, it feels intimate, and intimate feels right.

Dragging my gaze away from toes that on anyone else would repulse me, I focus on her laptop and open notebook. They sit at an angle that tells me she’s already been here working long enough that it’s turned sideways with her slanted scrawl so I can’t read it.

When she doesn’t look up, I move to the French press to make our coffee. There are too many things left unsaidbetween us, and that chasm is ripping open so fast I’m not sure how to stop the bleed.

It’s become our new normal, though I’m aware that normal isn’t the right word for us. Normal implies something settled. This is more like…a crumbling foundation. Everything’s structural until you hit the one wall you should have never touched and the entire building comes crashing down.

Perhaps Junie and I were always destined for the crash-landing.

“Q3 vendor reconciliation is about 60 percent clean,” she says instead of a greeting.

It pisses me off.

“Good morning to you too,” I bite back.

I bet my left nut she’s suppressing a smile—Viper loves snark—but she remains silent while I finish our coffee.

She doesn’t speak again until I place a mug in front of her. “I found another discrepancy in the Wilford account. It’s the third time in four months. Same vendor. Same nine-day lag.”

I should’ve gone for an Irish coffee this morning.

This is why I’ve needed her though—she fills in the gaps of my knowledge base, so I pull out the chair opposite her while ruminating on what her findings could mean.

Please find the proof I need because I’m not sure anyone will believe in my innocence without it.

Fuck. Even my subconscious is begging for her now.