Page 10

“Huh,” Cole says.

“Huh, what?”

“You went somewhere.” He taps the knife against his thigh. “Just now. Your eyes were distant, and your face went all quiet, like someone unplugged it.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “My face is always quiet.”

“Nah. Your face is closed. It’s a vault.” The grin comes back, wider, and he steps in far enough that the trailer shrinks. He smells like steel and leather. “I’m very good at vaults.”

I hum under my breath. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of practice breaking into things.”

“Locks, mostly. Occasionally hearts.” He winks. “Mostly locks.”

“That’s the worst line I’ve heard this year.”

“It’s early. I’m warming up.” He tosses the knife in the air, lets it turn twice, and catches it without looking. “I’m four trailers down. Red door, a lot of dents. If you get lonely, or cold, or you want me to sharpen anything, I never bill.”

I study him carefully. Everything about Cole Pike says throw it all, see what sticks. He doesn’t aim at a target. He launches himself at it.

I can see why women let him. The face helps. Black hair flopping into slanted brown eyes that sparkle like he’s holding a secret and wants to be asked about it. A mouth built for trouble. If I were a different woman in a different life, I’d hand him the keys and watch him run through every room.

But I buried the part of me that wanted things in an October rainstorm. Nothing grows there. Nothing even tries.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I say.

“Liar.” He doesn’t sound offended. He sounds delighted. “Okay, here’s the plan. Cantina’s across the lot, outdoor seating. Food’s decent, whiskey’s better. You meet Deke, who looks like a bulldozer and cries at commercials. The rest of my brothers. The crew. Everybody’s going to want a look at the girl who stared down my knife.”

I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

Cole doesn’t give up. “Come on. One drink.”

“I’m tired, Pike.”

I let it hang there. I’ve said it to a dozen landlords and a dozen men holding out a hand.

He stops. For half a second, his face drops the performance, and a different Cole peers out. Sharper. Older, maybe. His eyes drag over my shoulders, my mouth, the fist I didn’t notice closing around the duffel strap. He’s reading me, or trying at least.

I loosen my fingers. One at a time.

“Sure,” he says softly. “Tired. Makes sense.”

“It does.”

“Long day. Big audition. You nearly lost an eyebrow.”

“I didn’t.”

“Nope.” The grin slides back in, but it doesn’t quite reach the corners. “You didn’t.”

He raps the doorframe twice with the knife hilt, backs out onto the step, and tips two fingers off his brow in a salute. “Lock the door, Archer. Not because anyone here’s going to bother you. Because it’ll make you feel better.”

The door clicks shut. I stand without moving until his boots fade on the gravel. Then I throw the deadbolt, check the windows again, and sit on the edge of the bed facing the only way in.

He’s already trying to figure me out.

Fine. Let him. He can poke and prod and circle all he likes, and he’ll find what everyone finds. A closed door.

I’ve kept one person behind it, and she isn’t coming back. I won’t make room for anyone else.