Page 84 of Played By Design

My socked feet slide on the hardwood, and I grab the door handle, twist, and yank it open.

Ghost stands on the front step. His mismatched eyes drop to my feet, then rise to my neck.

“You need shoes,” he murmurs. “And your nape guard.”

My hand goes to my neck. Empty.

Shit.

“Right.” I step back, pivot, and run to the entryway closet.

My sneakers wait beneath the coats, laces tangled together from the last time I kicked them off. I sit on the floor, shove my feet into them, and yank the laces tight enough to cut off circulation.

My nape guard hangs on the hook beside the keys.

I grab it and slap it around my neck, the protective metal plate settling over the base of my neck while the band cinches around my throat.

I stand, grab the duffel, and return to the door.

Ghost hasn’t moved. He stands on the front step, hands at his sides, patient as stone.

I step outside, pulling the door shut behind me. The cold nips at any exposed skin, and I shiver.

Ghost turns and walks to a dark sedan parked at the curb.

I follow, duffel banging against my leg, and slide into the passenger seat.

The interior is sterile, the opposite of the Blue Note with its wood and whiskey and bodies. This smells like nothing. As if he sprays it down with scent neutralizers and pheromone blockers until every trace is gone.

Ghost settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

The dashboard lights up in soft blue, and he pulls away from the curb.

The hum of the engine is the only sound.

Ghost doesn’t offer reassurances about Kain being okay. He doesn’t say anything at all, which is exactly what I expected and what I need.

My fingernails dig into the fabric of the duffel bag in my lap.

Through the window, streetlights slide past in steady beats. One. Two. Three.

My fingers find the hard edges of the workbook within the duffel, and my jaw aches from clenching.

I want to scream.

I want to open the workbook again and read every page aloud until my throat gives out.

I want to confront Kain with what I found and listen to him explain himself.

But none of that is happening right now, because Kain is in a hospital.

The thought lands in my stomach like a stone.

Kain is in a hospital, and I found his manual, and he doesn’t know, and what am I supposed to do with this information?

My throat tightens.

Ghost turns onto the road toward the hospital. Twenty minutes away, give or take. The speedometer holds steady, five miles under the limit.