The elf crouched down, one hand on each of my knees. “Seth, I need you to focus for me, okay?”
I stared at him. “You need. Me. Tofocus.”
“Yes. Because a deputy wassentto tell Elliot thatyouwere dead. And nobody asked anybody to identify the body.Andwe’re in the small-ass fucking town where yourfather killed your mother.”
I stared at him.
His long fingers tightened on my knees, and I winced involuntarily.
He jerked his hands back. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “The point is that I will bet you anything that they were trying to kill you.”
Now I gaped at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? It was an accident.”
He gave me a look that asked if I seriously thought that.
I made a small strangled noise as a mix of guilt and panic hit. “You’re saying it’smyfault someone killed him?”
“Jesus! Fuck. No. Fucking hell.” He ran a hand over his long braid, still crouched by my feet. “I mean, yes, someonetriedto kill him, but that stripey asshole is a slippery fucker.”
“And, what,heset the car on fire?”
“I don’t know how the car got on fire,” Hart retorted. “You’re the fucking arson specialist. As a matter of fact, youarethe fucking arson specialist, so why didn’t you ask to see the car?”
“Did you seriously just ask me why I didn’t want to see the burned-out car that quite possibly has my boyfriend’sbodyin it?!” Now I was getting angry.
“We don’tknowthat,” Hart replied.
“Thenwhy the fuck did they send a deputy?”
“I believe the car’s on fire,” Hart replied, his voice infuriatingly even. “Or was. What-fucking-ever. But do I believe Elliot is still in it? Since they didn’t ask you to ID the body, no, I don’t.”
I stared at him again. “So because they didn’t offer to show me a charred corpse…?” Nausea surged, but I kept it down.
“Because they came out here too fast,” he replied. “When was the last time you tried to notify next of kin—or whatever—before the car was cool enough for you to do a survey of the scene and collect DNA?”
He had me there. But, oh, holy shit, was hope a dangerous thing.
“Where the fuck is the Sheriff’s Office?” Hart asked me, then.
I looked up. “What?”
“Sheriff’s Office. Where the fuck is it?”
I pointed vaguely. “You don’t have GPS?” I don’t know why I got weirdly hung up on that detail.
“We’re in the ass end of nowhere,” came the response. “I forgot my fucking phone charger, and you’re goddamn lucky I managed to find this hotel.”
I frowned at him.
“I’ll get a damn charger when stores open up,” he snapped. “But in the mean time, I’m going down there and I’m going to find out what the fuck kind of bullshit operation they have going.” His lavender eyes flashed. “Because I’m smelling something and it isn’t fucking roses.”
I was still staring at him when the door slammed shut behind him.
Hart had been gone for…I wasn’t sure how many hours. It might have been two or four or… I honestly had no idea.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, that kind of fitful half-sleep that leaves you just as exhausted as when you started. But something woke me.
I was curled in the fetal position on the bed, Sassafras snuggled up against my legs behind my knees. There was diffuse light in the room, which meant it was after sunrise, but I didn’t know how long after. Hart hadn’t come back—I’d given him my key, so he could get in—and I didn’t know what that meant. If he’d made any progress in learning more about what had happened, or if he was just pissing off the Augusta County Sheriff’s Department. Honestly, it could have been both.
