We looked at each other, and my heart raced. His expression softened. He waited, smiling. I wondered what he thought I was going to say. We hadn’t spoken directly since the night at the inn. I’d avoided him, practically fled from the room when he arrived. I’d locked myself in my room at night and left the house as soon as possible every morning. He thought now I was going to—what?—ask him about that night at the inn? Tell him I was afraid? Tell him I missed him? His smile told me he was expecting to enjoy whatever it was I was going to say.

“I need money,” I said.

His smile faded. “What for?”

“I’m trying to find out about Baby B. About his death—about his burial.”

Cole looked at me now with an odd expression. I was never good at reading him—there was too much going on—and now there was definitely too much. A whole landscape of emotion. I heard a faint sound like a little horse galloping, and thought it was his heartbeat. Then I thought it might be mine. Then I saw his foot tapping.

We heard the kitchen door. We heard water from the kitchen tap. We both pictured Lucas, the way he sometimes put his entire head into the sink to drink straight from the tap.

Cole placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me into his bedroom. I tensed and lifted my arms, ready to fight, but he shook his head and closed the door silently.

“Leave him out of this, that’s all,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. He meant Lucas.

I stood with my back against the door, and he stood close to me. I was aware of his body, so real, so close, so wolfish with its heat and scent and that notion of blood coursing just below the surface.

“Money has nothing to do with the past,” he said.

“I found Baby B’s death certificate,” I said. “Cause of death? Drowning. Okay? He fell off the ferry in the night, he and my mom both. At least that’s the story. But there’s a piece of it that doesn’t make sense. I want to buy the report from the funeral home, to understand more about what happened that day. Unless you know more than I do?”

Cole turned abruptly away from me, going to the window. He stared moodily toward the bay. I joined him at the window and looked where he was looking.

“Why are you always staring at that thing?” Cole snapped.

“The houseboat?” I said. “I don’t know. Habit.”

He snorted as if this were an outrageous thing to say.

“I just want to know for sure how he died—and if he died. What if—” I looked at Cole’s face. “What if he didn’t die? What if he grew up? And—”