Page 25 of Point Blank

“Where were you coming from when you were attacked?” He’d heard tidbits of her statement to the police and was fairly certain she’d said she had just left a potential client’s house.

The muscles around her mouth softened. “Titus’s. I’d assessed his property and was heading home.”

He scratched his fingernails under his chin. “They must have been following you.”

“The attackers?” She shook her head as soon as the words left her mouth. “Never mind, of course the attackers. Ugh, I’m so damn tired I can’t think.” She dropped her head momentarily then straightened.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Why would they attack me if they wanted me to steal from Titus? Wouldn’t they need me alive?” Confusion puckered the skin between her eyes, and Milo’s index finger ached to smooth the lines. He commanded his rebellious hand to be still and not touch her.

“You said the attacker wanted you to come with him, right?”

Slowly, she nodded. Then her eyes grew wide. “They were going to force me to rob Titus, and when I escaped, they went after Dani to blackmail me.” Her hands fell to her stomach, and she hunched forward. “Oh my god, this is all my fault.”

Dammit to hell and back, there was that pull from behind his solar plexus, dragging his body to hers. He cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her head until her gaze met his.

“This isn’t your fault.” The words grated through his throat. Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes. He smoothed his thumb along her jawline and she swallowed.

“I feel like—wait, why are we upstairs?” Her gaze swept the second-floor hallway.

He let go of her face and circled his hand around her wrist, pulling her to his bedroom. He led her toward the king-sized bed in the center of the room. “Because, you need rest.”

She shoved his chest. “Are you crazy? I can’t rest. And neither can you. We have hours, Milo. Hours to put together a plan, disguises . . . My god, we’re going to need earbuds and mics.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was still smoothed back into a ponytail. “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.”

He cloaked her hands in his. “Look, I know all that. I’ll stay awake and get a head start, but you need sleep. It’s after 2:00 a.m. We’ll need to be awake another twenty-four hours at least, and you’ve probably already been awake for eighteen.”

Her defiant, upturned nose lowered.

“Sleep, stare at the ceiling—but at least lie down. If you drift off, I’ll wake you in two, three hours, tops.”

She massaged the skin at her temple. “All right, fine. Two hours.” She turned to the bed and he pulled the covers back. She crawled into the sheets and dropped her head to the pillow.

He lifted the blanket and tucked it around her shoulders. “Try to rest.”

“Milo.” Her hand popped loose from the coverlet to grip his wrist. “Stay with me?” Her voice was already raspy with fatigue.

Milo opened and closed his free hand. His body ached to do as she asked, but a siren of warning screamed at him. Getting too close to Serena would unravel him.

“Please?” She tugged on his hand and he swallowed. Resisting her was impossible.

“Okay.”

She scooted over, and he crawled under the covers next to her. She turned on her side to face him, her cheek cushioned against her hand and her eyes closed. Her breath came out in quick puffs, and he moved closer. Her lashes lifted, and the dark blue hue of her eyes struck him in the chest.

“Sleep, honey.” He brought his hand to the back of her head and massaged. A soft moan coasted through her lips. She snuggled closer and burrowed her face in the crook of his neck. A few minutes passed and her breathing became regular. Her muscles went limp, and a low purr rumbled from her throat.

He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead.

God, he’d missed this.

Familiarity. Comfort.

Her.

Being with Serena was bringing back memories with the force of a comet—memories that he’d buried beneath a shitload of pride, regret, and resentment. He’d met Serena and Dani when his father started working with their uncle Sebastian, before their mother died. Serena rarely talked about her mom, but Milo remembered his parents talking about Catalina Metcalf and her prescription-drug addiction. Milo’s mom had always felt sorry for the girls and often had Milo invite them over after school so they wouldn’t have to see their mother high.

He’d never forget the first time he saw her after her mother died. Serena had been eleven years old, her face pale, her hair the color of straw, and her eyes the largest and saddest he’d ever seen.

Fourteen years old, he’d felt awkward as hell being instructed to keep Dani and her outside while his father and their uncle had conspired bigger jobs in the house. Serena had sat in the grass shredding a long piece of grass between her fingers while watching him with a cold, hard stare. Even though he and Serena had been friends for a couple of years, everything about her screamed at him to stay away. Instead, he’d sat beside her in silence and copied her motions. He’d also kept one eye on Dani while she climbed a tree, and he’d thought for sure she’d plummet to the ground and break her leg, which would earn him a beating from his father. Serena had watched Dani too, but she’d been completely unconcerned, as if seeing her nine-year-old sister climb to the thinnest branches of a tall tree was nothing new.