Fallon
For about four seconds, we kiss like there’s nothing and no one else in the world. We kiss like we aren’t in the middle of a homicide scene. We kiss like we aren’t facing the possibility of going to jail for the rest of our lives.
We kiss like two people who love each other—as purely and as simply as that.
But then we’re both forced to pull away.
“Rush’s people are still littering the perimeter,” he tells me. “I’m sure he gave them a time frame to come inside if he didn’t come out.”
I nod. “And there’s no way we’ll get out without them seeing us.”
“We have to call the cops.”
He’s right, of course; even if Rush’s people weren’t surrounding us, we’d still have to. I’ll be the prime suspect in this case, and skipping town would only serve to bring Flint’s family into the mess
