Page 36 of Don't Cross the Blue Line
“GET BACK?—”
“Stop—STOP—it’s me?—”
“Let go?—”
“EVERLY. It’s ME.”
The flashlight beam lands on his face.
Beckett Benson. Dust in his hair. Cobwebs on his collar. Grime on his jaw. Shirt filthy. Eyes wide. One hand on the strap of my bag, the other pressed against his ribs where it connected.
“You hit me,” he says.
“You snuck up on me.”
“I was just walking!”
“Sneakily—” I stop. Rewind. “Why are you covered in dust?”
He looks down at himself, makes a face. It looks a little like…embarrassment?
When has Beckett Benson ever been embarrassed? I didn’t think he possessed that much humility.
Okay, that’s not fair. Clearly, Sutton Blake and Everly Hart need to have a little chat.
“I was locked in a janitor’s closet. By my teammate. I crawled through a ceiling to escape.”
Okay, yes, I’m staring. “A ceiling.”
“On my stomach. Fifteen feet. There were mice.” He brushes a cobweb off his shoulder. “Possibly rats. I’m choosing not to dwell.”
“Your teammate locked you in a closet?”
“Yes.”
“And you crawled through the ceiling.”
“Feeling like a broken record here, Everly.”
Something tectonic happens in my diaphragm. A seismic event. Unstoppable. A laugh starts to bubble?—
No. No. Clamp down?—
He cocks his head. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m not—” But I am. I am!
“You hit me with a camera, and now you’re laughing.”
“I’m not?—”
But I am, and we all know it. And I blame the crazy fear that had me walloping him with my camera and the ensuing adrenaline rush, but I’m almost bent over now, laughing. “I’m sorry!”
“You’re laughing.”
I sink to the ground, wiping my face. “I’m sorry, I can’t…”
He shakes his head. And then something happens to his face—not a smile, but his jaw softens. His eyes change.
