Page 38 of What We Bury

“Earth to Milo!”

I jump, pressing a hand to my chest. “Jesus, Holden! What the fuck?”

He shoots me a droll look as he pulls to a stop at a red light. “I was saying, where to next?”

I gesture at the road ahead. “Let’s grab some photos at the boardwalk. I’ll need to check the weather every time I post, but it won’t be too hard to match shit up.”

Holden sighs heavily, and makes a right.

“Hey, Holden?”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Do you think she likes nachos?”

He’s quiet for three full seconds, and I appreciate that he doesn’t even ask who I mean.

That’s because we’re all thinking of her.

“Everyone likes nachos, Milo.”

“See? Common ground. Murder, nachos. A great way to start a relationship.” I lean my head against the window and watch the streetlights streak past. “I’m going to bring her nachos.”

Holden shakes his head, but I catch it—the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“We’ve got a few more photoshoot locations, then we’re picking up Micah at the end of his shift and loading this guy back into the SUV,” I tell him. “Sunday is for grave digging.”

He sighs heavily. “Fine.”

“Can we stop for coffee? It’s going to be a long weekend.”

In the backseat, Brock sits motionless, seatbelt on, sunglasses reflecting the passing lights. He looks peaceful.

I did good work tonight. Nobody will know he’s dead until it doesn’t matter anymore.

The nachos really were fantastic, though. I should go back.

TWELVE

SAGE

“Nice jacket.”

Autumn eyes looks up from the menu, and for a second, we’re locked in a staring competition. Two people frozen in a diner on a Sunday morning—me with the coffee pot in my hand, him with those gold-brown eyes that have been living rent-free in my head since Friday.

“Thanks.”

“You know, I was sure I had one just like it?” I pour his coffee.

His mouth kicks up in a slight grin. “Yeah? What happened to it?”

I’m caught for an extra beat, mid-sarcasm, because that jacket—myjacket, since I’m feeling rather proprietary about it—looks even better on him than it did that night. His dirty-blond hair is still swept to the side, curling slightly into his eyes, and his face is still just as handsome.

What is it about these guys and their little group? Is the prerequisite that you have to be both hotanda little murdery? Is there an application process? A swimsuit round?