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Shay I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything but stare at the closed elevator doors as my pulse burns like wildfire under my skin. I recall the murderous expression Cole wore the night of our dinner date when I told him my mother’s boyfriend beat her up. I recall his scraped knuckles and blood-stained shirt the morning I woke with no memory at my apartment when he told me about Dylan. And I recall his eerie calm and splattered briefcase the night he wandered into his kitchen after leaving me alone to “work.” Goose bumps form all over my body. It was him. He’s the reason Bob left. Disappeared, more accurately, probably into a deep hole dug in the desert sand. Holy s**t. I’m in love with Tony Soprano. “Hello, Shay.” With a strangled scream, I jump and spin toward the voi
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