Space (Laws of Physics #2)(30)

In his room.

With the door closed.

Wait.

How did I get here?

I felt suddenly winded, like I couldn’t catch my breath, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint why. On the one hand, this was how several of my amorous nighttime fantasies started: Abram, a room with a bed, us alone, many sexually explicit moments to follow.

On the other hand, I didn’t feel particularly amorous at present.

I felt cold. My palms were clammy. A river of disquiet rushed down my spine. Instead of focusing on Abram, my eyes saw only a big man standing in front of a closed door, two barriers between me and the hall.

In the next moment, I sensed him move and I recoiled, stumbling backward and reaching for . . . something.

He stopped moving.

We stood in silence for another few seconds. I assumed he was looking at me, but I was too busy chasing the abruptly worn threads of lucidity, telling my galloping heart to chill out, and blinking against the loss of focus caused by adrenaline.

This is Abram. You are perfectly safe. He would never hurt you.

Before I could discover where my wits had scattered, and why, Abram opened the door again and stepped to the side.

Clearing his throat, he backed even further away. “You said there’s a study on the second floor?”

“Yes.” I breathed the word, a burst of wary relief radiating outward from my stomach to my fingertips at the sight of the hallway.

“Okay. Let’s go there.” Abram’s voice was soft, even, calm, and he came back into focus for me.

I was mildly surprised to discover he was now leaning against the wall farthest from the door, his arms crossed, and he was watching me with a strange kind of intensity that felt significant. I couldn’t deconstruct its meaning.

My mind automatically informed me—even though he was much bigger than me, and stronger, and probably fairly fast on his feet—at his present distance from the door, he wouldn’t be able to catch me if I made a run for the exit.

Not that I was going to make a run for the exit.

Because making a run for the exit would be silly.

“Lead the way,” Abram said, using that same soft voice and not moving from his spot, his gaze still watchful.

I nodded and unclenched my hands that had at some point balled themselves into fists. Taking a deep breath, I walked forward, my steps calm, normal, unhurried.

When I breached the doorway, I laughed lightly at myself, and continued down the hall. When I didn’t immediately hear him follow, I glanced over my shoulder and our eyes met. His features had rearranged themselves into a mask of indifference, I was once again furniture. But he was behind me, and he was following.

Just, following from a distance.





7





Special Relativity





*Abram*





* * *



I’d been wrong.

Not everything about Mona was a lie, and this made me want to murder someone.

I kept ten feet away from Mona DaVinci as she walked down the hall, and as she climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down another hall. Her wild eyes, the way her skin had gone from flushed to waxy in the span of twenty seconds were responsible for my murderous thoughts, and reminded me of another time, when I’d stumbled across her in the dark.

Sitting in the large front room of her parents’ Chicago house, pushing her dark hair from her beautiful face, she’d had the same wild look in her eyes. The intensity of her reaction at the time hadn’t been part of the lie. Unfortunately.

Since her panic wasn’t an act, then there was a reason for Mona’s freak-outs, her dislike of being touched unexpectedly, closeness, and apparently closed doors. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots: the reason for her freak-outs was a person, and what that person had done to her. This knowledge made me as frustrated and irate now as it had then.

What happened to her?

I’d speculated often over the years. Initially, the mysterious incident was blamed for Lisa pushing me away. As time passed, especially once I’d realized the truth, I’d wondered whether it had been part of the pretense. Did she overreact to distract me? Gain my sympathy? Make me care for her?

No. It was real. She’d been harmed at some point.

Whether it was instinct or what, this knowledge turned my mind to vengeful thoughts, but not against her. Revenge for her, for her peace, for justice. Someone needed to suffer for making her suffer.

Mona reached a closed door in the hallway. I stopped, maintaining the careful distance, willing to do just about anything to avoid seeing her panic again, especially when the panic had been caused by something I’d done. She knocked on the door, paused, and then opened it. Just inside the room, she turned and motioned me forward, her eyes lifting no higher than my chest.

“If you still have time,” she said, giving me a smile that touched only her lips.

At my approach she took a small step to the side, providing more space for me to enter. But once I was in, she surprised me by closing the door. My attention dropped to the handle as she moved further into the room. She hadn’t locked it.

“Abram.”

I lifted my eyes to hers and said, “Mona,” before considering the impulse.

That made her swallow, revived the alluring blush she’d worn earlier. Her long lashes fluttered like I’d blown dust in them. I watched her, riveted. She seemed to be working hard to remain calm, but not like she’d been inside my room, not with a feral kind of panic.