Page 40 of The Followers

“The view is stunning. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“My pleasure.” He reached over and took her wine glass, setting it down carefully on the cutting board near the remaining pieces of cheese. “Thank you for coming with me.”

He cupped her chin with one hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb as his eyes dropped to her lips. His touch sent shivers across her skin, surprising her. Liv wasn’t the type to go all tingly and fluttery at the touch of a man. But he, too, seemed surprised by whatever it was between them. His breath caught, and soon they were both leaning toward each other.

Their lips met, in the awkward way of two people trying this for the first time. Liv opened her eyes slightly to see his face, blurry and close, his own eyes closed in concentration. Then his eyes opened and met hers, and she faltered. It was as if he saw straight through the pupils, beyond the surface and directly to her core.

Then his mouth curved into a smile, and the moment softened into something more playful. When their lips met again, it was a dance, a dare, a test. He tasted like wine and chocolate; his beard tickled, and Liv turned toward him, a sunflower following the sun. She soaked in the pleasure of being close to another human being, the way it grounded her in her body, in this moment, this place. Despite her solitary life, she always craved contact.

Soon they were horizontal on the blanket, touching and kissing, exploring and tasting, and she realized she wanted more. She wanted him, specifically, this man who laughed at her one moment, challenged her the next, and pierced her walls with a look. She wanted his soft mouth, his warm skin, his long, lean muscles under her hands. And she didn’t want to stop.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless. He smiled. Not a teasing smile this time, but a contented one.

“That was nice,” he said.

“Very nice.”

“I guess my picnic did the job.”

A smile spread across her face. “I guess so.”

On the hike down, it was fully dark, but Jeremiah had a headlamp for each of them. They chatted and held hands, and all Liv could think of was getting him off the mountain, into her apartment, and finishing what they’d started.

But back in his Jeep, something shifted. His face settled into a strange, somber expression, his eyes fixed on the road in front of them. Her stomach clamped down. This was a bad sign. A guy who went silent and rigid after a make-out session was talking himself out of the situation.

When they reached her apartment complex, he parked the car and walked her to her apartment door, but stopped a few paces away.

“Thank you for dinner and the hike,” she said, her voice sounding too loud. “I had a great time.”

He glanced at her face, then at the ground. “Thanks for being a good sport about it. Not every girl would be okay with a hike and a picnic for a date, especially when she was expecting something else.”

Before she could change her mind, Liv blurted, “Do you want to come in?”

He rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”

“Okay. That’s okay. It’s late.” She was babbling, embarrassment settling in her stomach like rotten milk. “I’m planning on a long run in the morning, so I should get some sleep.”

“Have a good night,” he said, already turning around.

Liv changed and climbed into bed, hating herself for being disappointed. It didn’t matter. She was here to make sure Sam Howard went to prison, not to get involved with men.

A glance at her phone revealed an email that sent her heart racing.

Ms. Barrett,

I’ve forwarded your email to Kent Rasband. As you know, he was the original detective on your sister’s case. He and I spoke on the phone today, and he will be reaching out to you shortly with further information.

Her heart thumped, reminding her: this was why she was here. She wished she could call Oliver and tell him, but it was nearly midnight, and two hours later for him. Even he should be asleep. Instead, she buried her face in her pillow and forced herself to close her eyes.

twenty

“The good thing about my job is that I can do it anywhere, anytime. The bad thing about my job is that I can do it anywhere, anytime. It’s relentless.”

—Molly Sullivan, on the podcast

Inside Her: The Secret Lives of Influencers

“I need to make a call for work,” Molly told the girls, who barely looked up. They were huddled together on the sofa, late-afternoon sun streaming through the curtains, staring at the iPad.