The Sinner - Molly O'Keefe Page 0,65

body, his sex and his love, I’d take it all because I really didn’t believe that once he left he’d ever cross my threshold again. I would hoard those memories for all the lonely days ahead. “I want that fierce heart to love me back,” he said.

It does.

Yeah, I wasn’t stupid enough to say it.

“And I know,” he continued, kissing my collarbone as he undid my bra, my breasts spilling into his hands. “I know that you love me and I’ll be back so you can say it to me.”

I kissed him, preventing myself from saying all the things I shouldn’t.

MATT

Hours later, the kitchen was dark and hushed as we sat side by side on the counter, sweat cooling on our skin. My soul lay between us, a naked offering cold and shivering in all this silence.

I had no fucking clue what she was thinking. But I knew down to my feet that pushing would only break everything. So, I took another bite of my ham sandwich and wondered why love had to be so hard.

“Okay,” she said, holding her uneaten sandwich in her lap.

“Okay, what?”

Her smile was shaky and nervous, but still the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. “Come back to me.”

It wasn’t love, but it was trust, and maybe that was better. From a woman like Savannah, maybe that was the key to my kingdom.

“Savannah,” I whispered, joy pumping into my body like fuel. “You have—”

The violent shattering of glass destroyed the quiet of the night.

17

MATT

I leaped off the counter as though it was on fire. Savannah was right beside me, her hand a talon on my arm.

“What—”

“The sleeping porch,” I said, turning toward where the crash had come from, adrenaline hammering my system. “Stay here.”

“Like hell,” she muttered and followed me down the dark hallway. “So help me,” she whispered, “if it’s Garrett or Owen—”

A small figure, dressed in black from head to toe, crossed the doorway of the sleeping porch, between us and the moonlight.

A ski mask. A flashlight no bigger than a pin.

This was no high-schooler.

I shoved my hand out, pressing Savannah against the wall. She nodded when I looked at her. She’d be quiet. She’d be still.

My fingers traced her cheek for a split second, then I snuck through the shadows of the hallway and stepped into the sleeping porch. The thief was short and thin like a kid—maybe it was a teenager after all. One who’d seen a few too many movies about thieves and knew the costume requirements.

I grabbed the kid’s arm, hauling him close and the kid turned. I got the impression of narrowed blue eyes just before the kid hoofed me—hard—right in the crotch.

I cupped my injured junk and hit the floor.

“Savannah.” I tried to gasp a warning, but the thief leaped over me toward the door before I could get out the breath, much less the words.

Forcing myself to swallow the nausea and crushing pain in my groin, I crawled toward the door, pulling myself to my feet in time to see Savannah tackle the thief to the hardwood floor of the hallway.

The thief fought, but Savannah ducked her head to keep her nose and eyes safe and held on tight, her whole body taut with effort.

Fierce wasn’t the half of it.

“Good catch,” I said, hauling the thief off Savannah. I wrapped my arm around the kid’s neck to keep him in place then yanked off the ski mask.

Long blond hair fell out around a beautiful and terribly familiar face.

“Mom?” Savannah breathed.

SAVANNAH

I’d stepped down some rabbit hole or something, because looking at my mother was like looking into a mirror. Or into the past. She was unchanged. My mother stood there, as lovely as the day she left.

As lovely and as cold.

How could this be happening?

I had to shut my eyes and pretend this was a dream. Or that I’d finally lost my mind because there was no way, no way in hell, my mother was back.

And breaking into my home?

Yeah, I hit my head or something. This can’t be happening.

“Hello, Savannah,” Vanessa said. And the voice was real, carved right out of my memories. The voice that had read me bedtime stories. The voice that had sung me songs and scolded my brothers for picking on me.

The voice that had said goodbye and lied.

Rage, bitter and hot, a thousand times stronger than grief, pounded through me.

“Get out of here,” I snapped.

“Whoa!” Matt cried. “Wait a second, let’s get some answers here. Your mother just broke into your