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Amber Blake is having dreams, and they just might be the key to saving her best friend, Mark.
Unfortunately, she's too preoccupied pretending to hate the boy next door, Carter Hayes. Secretly hoping to rekindle what once was, Amber atte...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
The board glares back at me, reflecting the overhead light.
I lean back in the desk chair, my eyes locked on the black timeline. Mark's autopsy hangs near the Saturday end, along with the transcript I stole from Darren's office. In the corner above Friday, my crude handwriting lists out the evidence against him. I avoid looking at that corner altogether; it only reminds me that we've barely got anything.
Between the two points is empty space.
"Mama," Brynn squeals in my lap, reaching towards one of the dry erase markers. The tray is just out of her reach, but I lean back further for good measure. I may not know much about kids, but some things are just common sense.
A stress ball on the desk catches my eye. Hugging her closer to my chest, I lean over and place it in her tiny hands. She takes it, grateful for something to entertain herself with, then snuggles into the crook of my elbow. When she smiles up at me, I meet her eyes without flinching. All I find is warm hazel.
They've been hazel since my fireside chat with Julia. Though most of my time is being spent investigating Darren, I've made an effort to be around Brynn when I'm home. It started with the intention of linking her to Mark, but in all the times I've sat with her — whether during breakfast in the morning or on the edge of her bed until she's asleep — not once have I seen the shimmer of blue.
Instead, all I've found is Carter. Not just in her eyes, but in the cleft in her chin, or the honey-gold highlights in her hair. I've never noticed Carter's ears much before, but he's passed them down to her too. They both even snort when they laugh, one of my favorite things about him; I remember telling him bad jokes as kids just so I could hear it.
I can't tell if that's why I'm more comfortable around her. Rather than the dread I felt that morning in the nursery, I'm filled with overwhelming warmth whenever we're together. It reminds me of the first time I held Ben as a baby, a day I still recall vividly. It reminds me of how I've always felt about Mark.
"It's late."
Carter's voice startles me, but I don't turn away from the board. An irrational part of me is afraid that if I take my eyes off it, the feeble evidence we do have will slip away.
