The Evolution of Mara Dyer

27

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” MY VOICE was quiet. Shaky. “I threw it away.”

Noah nodded. “And then later you woke up and got out of bed. You didn’t say anything, so I assumed you left to get a drink or something, but given recent events, when you didn’t come back, I followed you. You left through the back door.”

Invisible fingers tightened around my throat. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I thought you were awake,” Noah said, his voice measured and even. “I asked what you were doing and you said you made a mistake—that you threw away something you wanted to keep. You seemed completely with it; you walked outside and I watched you take the doll from the waste bin and bring it back inside. You went to your room and then nearly came back to bed when I suggested you wash your hands first. You laughed, you did, and then you came back to bed and promptly fell asleep. You don’t remember any of this?”

I shook my head because I wasn’t sure I could speak. Nothing like this had ever happened before; I had nightmares, sure, and I blacked out before, yes. But this was new.

Different.

Like my reflection in the mirror.

I swallowed hard. “Do I look different to you?”

Noah’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“This morning, after—after I found the doll in my drawer,” I said. After I put it there, I didn’t say. “I looked in the mirror and I feel like—like I look different.” I glanced up at Noah, wondering if he saw it, but he only shook his head. “Look again.”

Noah took my face in his hands then and drew me close. So close I could see flecks of navy and green and gold in his eyes as he studied mine. His stare was incisive. Piercing.

“Right?” I asked under my breath.

Noah said nothing.

Because I was right. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

His eyes narrowed until all I could see were slits of blue. “You don’t look different,” Noah said. “Just . . .”

“Just different.” I pulled away. I was frustrated. Anxious. I glanced in the direction of my bedroom, in the direction of the doll. “Something’s happening to me, Noah.”

He was distressingly silent.

Noah knew I looked different. He just refused to say it. I didn’t know why and at that moment, I didn’t even care. There was one thing on my mind and one thing only. I stood up. “Where are your keys?”

“Why?” he asked, drawing out the word.

“Because I want to burn that doll.”

My parents would be disconcerted if they saw me light a fire in our backyard and burn a doll I’ve had since I was a baby, so we needed somewhere else to do it.

“You have a fireplace, right?” I asked him as I headed toward the front door.

“Several, but we can’t leave.”

I closed my eyes. “Joseph.” Damn.

“And you. If we’re not here when your parents get back—I’m sure I needn’t remind you of your recent psych ward stint.”

As if I could forget.

Noah ran a hand over his jaw. “They trust me here, with Joseph, for an hour, maybe. But I can’t take you out alone.”

“So I’m trapped here indefinitely.”

“Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless we bring them along.”

I stared at Noah, waiting for the punch line.

That was it, apparently. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? An invitation to the Shaw abode would go a long way with your mother. She’s desperate to meet my family—Ruth can distract her while we light fires and chant.”

“Not funny.”

A half-smile appeared on Noah’s lips. “Yes it is,” he said. “A little,” he added as my eyes narrowed to slits. “But if you’d rather they didn’t meet, I could burn the doll for you—”

“No.” I shook my head. Noah didn’t get it, and it didn’t even matter to him. He was game for anything, as always. But I needed to see with my own eyes that it was gone. “I want to be there.”

“Then it’s the only way,” Noah said with a shrug.

“You’re not worried about losing the sympathy card?”

“Pardon?”

“If your parents charm my parents, you might not be allowed here as much.”

An unreadable expression crossed Noah’s face. “Your mother’s clever,” he said, his voice low. “She’ll see things for what they are.” He stood and withdrew his cell from the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ll have Ruth invite her over tomorrow. For a ladies’ tea.”

“Your dad won’t be there?”

Noah arched an eyebrow. “Highly doubtful. And if he is, I’ll make sure we reschedule.”

“But I want to meet him.”

“I wish you didn’t,” he said as he scrolled through his iPhone.

“Why? Are you embarrassed?”

There was a bitter twist to Noah’s smile, and he answered without looking up at me. “Absolutely.”

I started to feel a bit uneasy. “By me?”

“By him.”

“That bad?”

“You have no idea.”

When my mother came home, Noah instructed me to ask her if I could go for a walk with him. I shifted my weight under her stare as she considered me.

“Be back in half an hour,” she said finally.

I grinned, surprised. “Okay.”

“And don’t leave the block.”

“Okay.”

My mother handed me her cell. “I’m trusting you,” she said quietly.

I nodded, and then Noah and I left. He loped gracefully ahead; his stride was so long, I almost had to jog to keep up.

“So where are we really going?”

“For a walk,” he insisted, staring ahead.

“Yeah, I caught that. Where?”

Noah pointed down the street at a black car parked under an enormous live oak tree. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

As we approached, an average-looking man exited the driver’s seat of the car. He flashed a bland smile at us.

“John,” Noah said with a nod, “I’d like to introduce you to your assignment.”

John held out his hand. “Mara Dyer,” he said to me as I shook it, “glad to meet you.”

Noah faced me. “John’s been working with a security firm so secure that it doesn’t have a name for—how long, again, John?”

“Since before you were a concept,” the man said, still smiling.

His answer surprised me—he didn’t look that old. And he wasn’t tall or broad or bodyguard-ish in any way. Everything about him was unremarkable, from his forgettable clothes to his forgettable face.

“He’s going to be trading shifts with his partner. Between them, they’ve protected four presidents, seven members of the Royal Family, and nine Saudi princes.”

“And now you,” John said.

Noah slid one hand around my waist and lifted the other to my neck, my cheek, tipping up my chin with his thumb. His voice was soft when he spoke. “They won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

I won’t let anything happen to you, he meant.

And he might have been right, if Jude were all I had to worry about. But no one could protect me from myself.