Page 37 of Don't Cross the Blue Line
I stop. Because the way he’s looking at me is suddenly way more dangerous than White zombie Walkers in an abandoned mall.
We’re in the dark again, but thanks to the flashlight he’s reclaimed from the floor, I can see now what I didn’t last time we were in the dark together: Beckett without the jersey.
Just a guy. A hot guy, but still, just a guy.
Who, by the way, is also stuck in a mall. With or without White Walkers.
I let out a calming breath, suck the laughter back up. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
“Yeah, well. At least you didn’t lock me in a closet. Consider yourself off the hook this time.” He smiles then, and maybe it’s not as cold in this corridor—the junction between the mall entrance and the rink side—as I thought it was. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I was writing and lost track of time.” I cock my head. “Why did your friend lock you in a closet?”
“He’s not my friend. And I’m not exactly sure.”
From overhead, the wind screams. The flashlight stutters. For one second, we’re in complete darkness. And I hate myself for it, but Panic Everly is still at the helm and Thriller Everly’s nowhere to be found, so I reached for him. It’s just instinct, so don’t get excited, but yes, my hand grabs his shirt, searching for something to anchor to.
The more important part here is…he doesn’t push me away.
The flashlight blinks back on. And suddenly I’m staring up at my childhood nemesis, holding on to him like he’s a hero or something.
And then those ridiculous blue eyes find mine, and they look sure and stable, Mr. Blue Line of defense. And my stupid heart gives a little hitch.
“You good?” he asks.
“What? Me? Yes. I’m great.” I drop his arm and step back, putting a safe slice of distance between us. “I didn’t want you to get spooked is all.”
“Because you’re the thriller writer, and you’re used to this sort of thing.”
“Exactly.” I point at him and wink. Oh brother.
He’s nodding and smiling, and I turn toward the empty mall. There has to be a way out. Please, please, God. “So,” I say. “What do we do now?”
BECKETT
I have exactly zero idea what to say. Because contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend my free time hanging around abandoned malls or meeting strangers (or in this case, childhood enemies wielding camera bags) in the dark.
So this is new to me.
But something about that moment, the flash of black when she reached for me in the dark, sort of short-circuited my brain. And suddenly, it made me want things I’ve never once wanted to do…like wrap Everly Hart in my arms until the lights come back on.
Hello? What’s with that?
I have this terrible fear that Everly broke me.
So…to answer the question What do we do now? Your guess is as good as mine. But she’s looking at me with those green eyes, the amber light catching her curls, and there’s no way I’m going to let myself say that…so instead, “Well, first thing, we should probably find you a flashlight.” I glance down at the tiny keychain flashlight I found stuffed in the pocket of my duffel (which I left in the janitor’s closet when I made my escape). “I’m not sure how long this one will last anyway.”
Everly nods, a little more hope in her eyes than is good for my brain right now. Get it together, Benson. This isn’t friendship. It’s a truce. Turning, she follows my flashlight to a nearby storefront.
“Huh,” she says.
“What?”
“The gates.” She points. “Look. There’s a glitch in the system.”
I look. And she’s right—not all the security gates are down. About half the stores are shuttered, metal grating pulled to the floor and locked. But the other half are caught in various stages of descent—some halfway down, some a quarter, some barely lowered at all.
“Power must have died mid-shutdown,” she says, and I swear I can hear the gears turning inside her head. “I think I know where we can find flashlights.” She starts down the hall, not waiting for me to catch up. “Come on.”
