than I thought—I had twenty minutes to get to my second appointment.
“Don’t just drive by, Basi.” She glowered. “You’re welcome to come in. If you have any tips on marigolds, I’d planned to replant a bunch of those next week.”
I wondered why she didn’t give up when she so clearly had a black thumb. “Thank you, Mrs Gaughton.”
“Please call me Mrs Hannah, dear.”
My heart warmed. She really was a lovely woman. Eccentric, but completely adorable. I missed my grandmother so much that any old woman was endearing to me right now.
“Thank you, Mrs Hannah. I might take you up on that visit.”
It wasn’t until I was bunny hopping my loan car down the road that I realised I hadn’t brought up the house once. Husky laughter tumbled from my lips. If Kyros was going to lock me in a tower, I’d be the worst fucking employee ever.
Because I was going back.
After a few hours to mull the coincidental turn of events, I’d decided giving me the means to escape was certainly a test. Kyros wanted to see if I was a flight risk. He probably had safety measures in place, and if I ran and they caught me, that was it.
I had to out-bluff him.
That meant figuring out what his edge was before I escaped. Kyros had an ace up his sleeve or he wouldn’t have let me out of the tower. A quick search of the work system, Monocle, had shown I had appointments tomorrow afternoon and next Monday, so I’d be out of the tower again. Knowing that, running at the first chance felt like a bad idea. I’d screwed up too much lately, and most of my fuck-ups had resulted from rushing into things.
Not this time.
I’d take the first opportunity for a successful escape. Kyros had said that failing my trial would result in further compulsion. I had to be smarter than I’d been so far.
The next address was in Orange too. Which I suppose made sense—the clan had landed on Orange last night which meant they had twenty-four hours to get as many contracts signed in that suburb as possible. The GPS took me past Tommy’s place, and my heart jerked in the direction of her familiar home.
God, I could go inside, crawl under her covers, and never come out again.
Except I couldn’t.
I couldn’t do so many things because I was in another fucking mess. One that I wasn’t sure would ever end. I knew about vampires now. That couldn’t be undone ever.
Turning one of the levers by the wheel, I narrowly avoided a honking car as I turned onto Friar Close. The indicator kept switching damn sides! I turned off the windscreen wipers, and ripped the wheel right, narrowly missing someone’s hedge.
“Shit,” I said, choking on a laugh.
Driving was pretty fun. Though a quick look in the mirror by my head told me the hedge hadn’t survived intact.
Crap.
I gunned it to the end of the street around the curve of the close to 190 Friar Close. Hopefully the owner of the hedge didn’t see me. Better get this prelim over and done with quickly just in case. This visit was probably to another person Live Right had pestered before.
Grabbing the house file, I leaped out of the car and strode along the short driveway.
I whistled low. Double garage in Orange. What a rich guy.
I knocked a few times and retreated, arranging my face into a smile.
A minute passed, and I slid a foot toward the car.
The door swung open.
Dammit.
“What do you want?” a lean fifty-something asked. His tone was polite, but the tightness around his eyes told me he didn’t appreciate the visit one bit. Mr Yersaw retired three months ago and was a widower—or so Monocle said.
His face fell. “Oh, are you one of those blasted Live Right people?”
Yep, they’d visited him before. I opened my mouth, but he rushed on.
“Bad time. I’m watching Truth Ranges.”
My eyes rounded. “You are? What season?”
He faltered. “Seven?”
“Before Macy Lane breaks her finger while fixing the roof tiles during a storm or after?” I gasped. “Shit, spoiler alert. So sorry!”
Mr Yersaw’s mouth twisted. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen every episode and keep up to date.”
“I’m usually the same, but I’ve missed an entire week,” I confessed, grimacing.
He blinked and then consulted his watch. “It’s 3:20 p.m.”
We looked at each other, faces slackening.
Every Thursday at 3:30 p.m. something happened that every self-respecting TR fan tuned in for.
“Truth Ranges omnibus!” we chorused.
17
“Hey, Basi?” A hand shook my shoulder. “Hello?”
My surroundings came