Chapter 13

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THE PRESENT

Liv awoke to the motel room's warped wooden door rattling opening. A mossy earthen aroma proceeded a moment's heart fluttering panic. Then, Graham's bearded face appeared, silhouetted by gentle morning sunlight, and her blood pressure dropped. He placed two to-go coffee cups on the rickety table next to the door, along with a paper bag she assumed held their breakfast.

"You're awake," he said as he closed the door. His tone was neutral—Liv would call it guarded, which was exactly how he should be with her. He needed a thick wall and an alarm system to keep her out.

She stretched and yawned, aware of his gaze as she climbed naked out of the bed they'd shared. "I didn't even hear you leave."

"That one's yours." He pointed to the coffee on the right.

She picked it up and took a sip. Rich, bold, slightly bitter. "It's good. Thanks."

Slumping into a chair, Graham's eyes lingered midway up her body. "Goddamn, Liv. Aren't you cold?"

"You offering to warm me up?"

He frowned but didn't look away. "The whole time I was out getting us breakfast, I thought of what you said last night. About your sister. About all the things you say and then refuse to elaborate on, about how that has got to change if we're going to... to proceed in any capacity. And then I come back here and you're..." He paused, swallowed. "Is that by design?"

"What do you mean?"

"This." He waved his hands at her. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes, and that's the point." His cheeks flushed. "I'm a participant in a game I don't understand and don't know how to win."

"It's not a game," she said. "And there's no winning."

He stood up, a button on his jacket chaffing against her bare chest. "Then put on some clothes, sit down, and talk to me. I mean, really talk. Can you do that?"

She played with the offending button, tugging on it to bring him closer. "I can do lots of things."

He caught her arm, held it tight, kept his eyes homed in on hers. "Am I your mark, Liv? And if so, what does that make you?"

This was a new side of him. More assertive, more challenging. She didn't hate it, even if she should find it worrisome.

Yanking her wrist out of his grasp, she stepped around him and gathered her clothes from the floor where they'd been unceremoniously tossed last night. A minute later, fully clothed, she downed her coffee.

"Can we have a real conversation now?" he asked.

"My goal isn't to be manipulative," she said. "I do what I do to protect myself."

"Why do you think you have to protect yourself from me?"

That was a dangerous question with even more dangerous answers. She picked the most innocuous one. "It's not you specifically. I do this with people all the time. Especially since..."

"Since your sister died under mysterious circumstances and then communicated with you from beyond the grave?"

"Basically, yes."

"I'm not sure I buy your story about Penelope leading you to Allen Chen's body. You must admit, it's farfetched."

"Excuse you, but wasn't your whole premise for flying me out here based on the belief that your sister was kidnapped by ghosts?"

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