Chapter Thirty-Three

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

When I got out of the car at Rose’s, the front door banged open and Eddie came out. He strode down the front walk toward me. “Where the fuck have you been, April?” he shouted. “It’s late. I came home and you were gone.”

His voice was ragged, his expression frantic. He was still wearing his running clothes. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was army big, furious, and coming rapidly toward me, but I never had a whisper of fear. All I felt, looking at him, was that I loved him so much I could barely stand it.

I had never loved any man in my life, but Eddie had changed all of that.

I was bone-tired, and my legs felt like they were on fire. It was full dark now; I had no idea what time it was. I unzipped my windbreaker and slid it off, letting the warm night air cool my sweating skin.

Eddie stopped in front of me. “Well?” he said. “I was going to call the cops.”

“It’s her,” I said.

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“The Lost Girl. All of the murders—they’re her.”

His gaze searched my face. “Where have you been?” he asked, his voice lower now.

“Where do you think? I drove to Atticus Line.” I dropped my jacket and stepped forward. “Tell me how we got here, Eddie.” I raised my hands to his jaw, cupping his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble on my palms. “You were driving. Tell me the truth. Tell me how we got here.”

His gaze locked on mine, and I looked into his eyes. Eddie Carter’s eyes. I watched the emotions at war in them, fear and confusion and the lingering anger over my leaving. The worry about me. Part of him had thought I’d left him. He didn’t have to tell me that—I already knew.

“I thought I was going the right way,” he said.

“Why did you think that?” My voice was almost a murmur. “We were going the wrong way. Didn’t you know? Did someone tell you which way to go?”

The words made him flinch; I felt it under my hands. “April.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“No one told me.” He ground the words out. “But I was so sure.”

I dropped my hands to his shoulders. The muscles were bunched, his body tense, but his skin was warm and familiar beneath the cotton of his T-shirt. “She brought us here,” I told him. “It wasn’t a mistake, and it wasn’t random. It wasn’t a wrong turn. She brought us here, and she just tried to kill me.”

Our gazes locked. “Tell me,” he said, calmer now.

“I will. I’ll tell you everything.”

He was still under my touch, our gazes still locked. “Who’s crazier, April?” he asked. “Me or you?”

“I don’t know, but you don’t have to worry. I’m going to fix everything.”

“You can’t fix it.” He closed his eyes. “You can’t.”

“Eddie,” I said, “you haven’t seen me try.”