Page 186 of The Next Lie

“Case made.”

Sonny laughs, and for a little while, the room almost feels normal. Hair, makeup, dress, coffee, cat antics, and two women pretending the evening ahead is merely formal and not possibly lethal. I let myself sit in the almost-normal of that longer than I should.

Then something taps at the balcony door—not the bedroom door, but the balcony.

Sonny freezes with a mascara wand in her hand. “Please tell me that’s expected.”

I look toward the French doors. Another tap. Small. Sharp. A pebble drops onto the floor of the balcony.

I set Homer on the bed. “If it’s an assassin, tell everyone I died underdressed for the occasion.”

“You are in underwear.”

“Like I said.”

I cross the room in my bra and panties, push aside the curtain, and look out.

Shiloh stands in the garden below, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small handful of pebbles. He looks up and gives me a wolf whistle quiet enough not to alert the house.

I open the balcony door. “Are you twelve?”

“In key areas, probably.”

“I am not dressed.”

“I noticed.” His gaze travels down, then back to my face. “With deep gratitude.”

“Sonny is holding mascara and would probably throw the curling iron at you if I told her to.”

He looks past me and lifts a hand. “Hey, Sonny.”

Sonny calls, “I’m not finished with her.”

“Neither am I.”

I roll my eyes. “What do you want?”

His smile slips a little. That answers before he does.

I step onto the balcony and pull the door mostly closed behind me. The air is warm, the sky already leaning toward evening. Below, Shiloh moves closer to the wall, looking up at me with less show than he usually allows.

“You doing okay, Yank?” he asks.

“I am half-naked on a balcony before a cartel masquerade.”

“So no.”

I rest my forearms on the railing. “I’m trying.”

“I know.”

His voice does something to my chest. Shiloh can make anything sound playful until he decides not to. Then the truth comes through clean enough to hurt.

“I don’t want tonight to feel important,” I say. “I want it to just be a stupid party with expensive people and bad music. I want to complain about the shoes and drink champagne I don’t like and come home making fun of everyone.”

“We can still make fun of everyone.”

“If we come home.”