The Last Echo

He paused when he saw the ones he’d taken yesterday in front of the run-down warehouse he’d followed her to. His stomach clenched as he recalled hearing her cries for help, and he hated himself for not answering them. For hiding, and waiting.

Something had stirred in him. Something primal and possessive.

He glanced down at one of the images, recalling the way her eyes—the wrong color for him—had looked the day he’d spotted her, outside The Mecca.

At that moment, he realized it. He knew then that she needed him.

Suddenly it didn’t matter that she wasn’t his usual type. He ran his finger over her riotous curls, wondering what it would be like to have her vivid green eyes gazing into his.

There was definitely something about her.

Violet, he thought, repeating the name he’d overheard the boy on the street calling her that first day. Before he’d followed her. Before he’d known even more about her. Violet Ambrose.

Soon, he would sleep again.

Soon, he’d have a new girlfriend.

Chapter 19

VIOLET SIGHED WHEN SHE SAW THE MINIVAN IN her driveway, the one her aunt was always trying to convince her was cooler than a normal minivan. Violet insisted that a built-in DVD system and Bluetooth wireless didn’t change the fact that it was still a minivan.

It didn’t hurt her mood, though, to see that her car was back. The tan Honda was parked beside her aunt’s car, and despite her black mood, she plastered on her best fake smile, preparing herself to be smothered in well-meaning concern.

“Oh my!” Her aunt Kat pounced on her before she was even through the door, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she got a look at Violet’s face. “Geez, Vi, I . . . are you . . .” Her face scrunched up. “Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you’re safe,” she breathed at last, pulling Violet into a fierce hug.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Violet recited the words, trying to make her aunt feel better.

“She’s lying.” Her uncle Stephen winked at her as he sauntered into the front room, joining them. The taste of dandelions flickered across Violet’s tongue, the imprint he’d forever carry on him.

“Hi, Uncle Stephen.” He hugged her too, tighter even than her aunt had. “Hey, baby. How’re ya doin’? Had a rough time of it, huh?”

There was no point denying the truth. “I’ve been better. Kinda sucks getting your ass kicked.”

Her uncle laughed against her ear, giving her one last squeeze. “Yeah, it kinda does, doesn’t it? Maybe you need some karate lessons or something. Next time you can be the kicker.”

“Next time I’ll try to run faster,” Violet said, hoping they’d bypassed the awkwardness of the situation.

But then her uncle’s expression changed, growing serious. “I think you should reconsider what you’re doing, Vi. With Sara Priest and her group. It’s dangerous. Just look at you.”

“You’ve been talking to my mother,” Violet accused, knowing it wouldn’t have mattered; her uncle would have felt the same way, with or without her mother’s interference. “Really, Uncle Stephen, it wasn’t Sara’s fault. She didn’t—”

“I doubt anyone thinks it was her fault. But sometimes when you’re involved in dangerous situations, even if you’re not directly involved, things can happen. This is just one of those times. No one’s blaming Sara, exactly, but you have to admit, if you hadn’t been working with her this probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Violet wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to admit anything, even if he was technically right. In her heart she knew Sara never meant for her to get hurt, that she’d have done anything to protect Violet. But Violet also knew she bore her share of the burden. If she hadn’t gone behind Sara’s back in the first place, breaking into Antonia Cornett’s house with Rafe and Krystal, she would never have met James Nua. He would never have tried to kill her.

And he’d still be alive today.

She shuddered at the thought of him, of what he’d done to his girlfriend and their two small children. She couldn’t help thinking he deserved what he got.

“Look,” her uncle said, his tone solicitous. Violet saw her mother leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, listening, and she forced herself to focus on her uncle instead, not wanting to see that judgmental look in her mom’s eyes. “Just think about it, Vi. Think about what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with.” He smiled at her, naked concern etched throughout every line of his face. “Believe me, if we didn’t love you, we wouldn’t nag.”

He draped his arm around his wife then, a broad grin parting his lips as he gazed down at her adoringly. “Unfortunately, you come from long line of stubborn women.” Violet didn’t bother pointing out that she and Kat weren’t actually related by blood; she had a feeling it wouldn’t have made a difference.

“Speaking of stubborn . . .” Maggie Ambrose said from her spot at the doorway. “The kids are begging to go to the park.” Two blonde heads poked out from behind her legs.

“You promised, Dad,” Joshua complained as Cassidy clumsily pushed him out of the way.

Cassidy stopped abruptly in front of Violet. “Owie!” the three-year-old frowned, pointing to the bruise on Violet’s face.

Violet half-laughed, half-scowled at the little girl. “Thanks, Cass. Just what I wanted to hear.” She held her hands out to her little cousin. “Come here, you.” When Cassidy jumped into her arms, Violet lifted her up. “So, you wanna go to the park, huh?”