What Lies in the Woods(47)

“Can I come in?” I asked.

He glanced behind him. “Uh. Sure,” he said. He opened the door farther and stepped backward, letting me enter without putting my back to him. I shut the door behind me and stood there, fingers resting against the cold door.

His dirty clothes were heaped in an open suitcase at the end of the bed. Recording equipment was stored more neatly by the desk, and his laptop was open, with sound-editing software up and running. I wondered if he was editing my “interview.” I walked over, trying to decode the tangle of sound waves and icons.

“Naomi?” His fingers brushed my elbow. I dragged my eyes back to his face. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” I said. His fingertips were still on my elbow, barely touching me, like he was afraid of what would happen if he made real contact. Or if he let go.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

Did I? I needed to tell someone. I needed to speak the words to ease the aching pressure in my chest, but I had no one to tell.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he said. His voice was so painfully gentle, so kind. His touch as tender as he’d been when he lifted Liv from the water.

“I can’t,” I said. I stepped toward him.

Some people reach for a bottle. I have never been able to silence my thoughts with alcohol. It only ever blunts my defenses, lets loose all the creeping things in the corners of my mind. I’ve found other ways to cope. I stepped into him and he let out a startled breath, eyes widening. I rested a hand on his chest. His heart beat rapidly under my palm, and I thought of the rush of blood, of how easily it escapes the skin.

“Naomi,” he said.

“Ethan,” I replied. I leaned into him, almost touching, not quite. A gap that was easy to close, if he wanted to.

He wanted to. But he didn’t. His hand skimmed up my arm, over my shoulder, until his fingers rested at the back of my neck. “What are you doing?” he asked me.

“I told you. I don’t want to be alone.” I didn’t want to be alone, and he was beautiful, and he was alive, and he had been kind to me, and that was more reason than I’d ever needed.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he said, voice rough.

“I’m not the one being taken advantage of here,” I assured him. My fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, fingernails nicking skin, and he took a sharp breath. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said softly.

“Good.”

He kissed me, his kiss as hungry as mine, and we tumbled toward oblivion.





We lay with the motel sheets tangled under us, breath still quick, pulses settling. Ethan’s hand rested on my thigh. I rolled away, sitting up at the edge of the bed and snatching my clothes from where they’d fallen.

“In a hurry to leave?” Ethan asked, and I could hear him trying to figure out if he should be hurt.

I pulled my shirt over my head and looked back at him. He didn’t have a single scar on his body. Just that tattoo and a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite read. “Should I be?” Most people were happy when I didn’t try to stick around. Most of them could tell I was more trouble than I was worth.

He didn’t answer at first. He sat up and pulled on his pants. “Why did you come over here?”

“I told you. I didn’t want to be alone,” I said. I stood, crossing my arms against a chill.

“And now? Do you want to be alone?” He turned, half facing me.

“No,” I said. One word and still my voice cracked it down the middle. I rubbed my upper arms. I couldn’t seem to get warm.

“I can help you, you know. If you’re looking into Stahl, I mean. I’ve done a lot of research into the quiet summer already. If you’re trying to find a missing victim—”

“I found her,” I said, cutting him off. He looked startled.

“How? The number of women that go missing every year—even just narrowing it down to a few possibilities is next to impossible. And without a body, there’s no way to be sure it’s one of Stahl’s victims.”

I drew aside the curtain, looking out at the nearly empty lot. I should leave. I’d gotten what I came for, and I had no reason to rely on Ethan Schreiber for more than that.

I watched him approach in the reflection in the window, quelling the little shiver of fear at the sensation of someone at my back. I closed my eyes. His palms ghosted over my shoulders. His lips brushed against my hair, not quite a kiss. It was as if he was afraid that if he actually touched me, I would vanish.

“Whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re holding on to, you don’t have to do it alone,” he told me.

I’d come to Ethan’s door to make a mistake. It was what I always did. If I knew what mistake I was making, I wouldn’t be surprised when it hurt me. I’d needed this. Needed him.

Maybe I still did.

“I have to know that if I tell you, it’s going to stay between us,” I said. “At least for now. Until I know all of it.”

“All right,” he said easily.

I met his eyes in the reflection. “You can’t just say that. You have to mean it.”

“I do,” he promised.