Page 13 of Sharp Lies

The one staring at me while my back was turned.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out the details in the reflection. Did I know the guy? I didn’t think so. He was older, maybe ten to fifteen years older than me, and he had something about him that made me feel like he’d seen a few things in his life. His hair was dark but graying at the temples, and his eyes...

I turned and looked right at him, wondering if I’d had the right read on him.

Yep, his eyes looked both haunted and angry at the same time. Like something had happened that he couldn’t get rid of, and he was angry about it.

He was wearing a dark scowl, but his face was shockingly handsome, all broad planes and sharp angles. He looked like he could be modeling for one of those catalogues that sold outdoorsy stuff. Mountain man stuff.

Shocking blue eyes were set deep in the planes of his face, and his jaw was covered with scruff.

The whole picture took my breath away. I’d seen a lot of people in my lifetime, but he was the most alluring. He was roughly handsome, but there was something about him that made me want to take him in my arms and tell him that it was going to be okay.

Something broken that wanted fixing.

He held my gaze for a long, intense moment... and then jerked away and stalked toward the house as if he was angry that I’d seen him at all.

Of course, I thought with a smile, he’d been looking at me first.

CHAPTER 7

LILY

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THE NEXT MORNING WHEN I went to the rehab center to visit my mom, I found her in a much better mood than she’d been in before. She was, in fact, up on crutches and waddling around while leaning heavily on the nurse next to her.

“Look at you!” I laughed, walking up to them. “I thought the doctor said no crutches!”

“Well, we won’t tell him if you don’t,” the nurse said, sending me a sassy wink. “We figure what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

I grinned at her but then remembered what the surgeon had said about my mother’s ribs. “Those aren’t hurting your ribs, are they? They’re not, like...”—I gestured with my hand, not knowing how to say what I was thinking—”re-breaking them or something?”

Now it was my mom’s turn to laugh. “If they’re re-broken, I didn’t feel it happen. I feel great! And it’s so nice to be back on my feet again.”

Now that I believed. My mom had always been physical, waking up early to take long walks on her own and making sure I spent as much time outside as possible. Hell, she’d taken up bike riding the year before I left town and had gotten so good at it that she’d been able to spend hours on a bike out on the road.

Still.

“Well, don’t press yourself too hard,” I told her. “I want you to come home, not hurt yourself badly enough that you have to stay here even longer.”

My mom rolled her eyes. “Spoil sport.”

“Hey, you’re the one who got yourself in a crash and got hurt. I’m just picking up the pieces here.”

I saw a flash of doubt cross my mom’s face, and she frowned for a moment, but then it was gone, and I wondered if I’d actually seen it or not. If I had—and I wasn’t going to argue otherwise—what was she doubting? What had bothered her about the idea of the crash? Did she remember it?

Had she seen something she hadn’t told anyone else about?

I remembered the suspicion I’d had about the McCarthy family and frowned back at her. Was she keeping something from me?

Or was she too afraid to tell me what had happened?

“Are you almost done here?” I asked, deciding not to bring it up. “I’ve come to have lunch with you, but if you’re too busy exploring the world with those crutches...”

“Actually, I think I’ve had enough,” my mom said, breathing heavily. “Those things aren’t as easy to use as you might think. Did you say something about lunch? Are you taking me out?”

I hadn’t thought of it, but now that she mentioned it...