Chapter 13: The Red Seal

Winslow parked across from the coffee shop on First Avenue at ten to ten.

Colton had texted from the courier's car a few minutes before.

*She just asked the driver to pull over. She says she feels faint.*

I read it out loud.

"Of course she does," said Winslow.

My knee had been bouncing since the Livingstone driveway.

He put his hand on it to stop it.

Then he slid the hand up the inside of my thigh and left it there, warm and heavy, while we watched the door.

"Winslow."

"Your leg was shaking the car."

"That's not where my leg is."

"I'm keeping it still," he said, and his thumb moved once, slowly, along the seam of my jeans.

I stopped breathing for a second.

I took his wrist and put his hand back on my knee.

"Later," I said.

"You've picked a bad week to say that to me."

Across the street, a gray car stood at the curb with its engine running.

A man in a courier's jacket sat behind the wheel with a cold case on the seat beside him.

Brynn got out of the back in her pearl-pink coat, holding the sealed bag against her chest.

Colton got out after her and said something.

She smiled and touched his arm.

She went inside, and he followed a few steps behind and took a table by the window.

My phone buzzed.

*She went to the back. Ladies' room. Come in.*

We crossed the street and went in.

The shop was half full.

A woman typed at a laptop, two men argued over a map, and a barista was steaming milk.

Colton lifted his chin toward a short corridor at the back.

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