CHAPTER 111
Calla stood poised on the threshold of Vincent's house, her finger hovering over the doorbell. I want to know the truth. The dogs hadn't yet caught her scent. She could still turn around. Turn around and— And what? Ignore him? Pretend that he isn't breathing down your neck, ready to expose all your secrets? She pressed the doorbell, only to realize that the damn thing didn't work. So she rapped her knuckles against the screen door instead, and grimaced when the chorus of dogs immediately sprang to life. He doesn't know what he's getting into. She'd told herself this again and again, each time she caught her reflection in the mirror—and the cold, dark look in her eyes. He doesn't realize what's waiting at the end of this rainbow. Vincent would find no pot of gold, no glorious
- Writer
