Midnight at the Oasis. Оливия Гейтс

you come back—”

      “If I come back, all I’ll end up seeing is Justin’s face on a rap sheet. Or on a slab in the morgue. I can’t do that, Dan. I can’t—” Noah’s voice broke on the last few words, splintering and cracking into shards sharper than those of the old wood that littered the ground at his feet. “I quit.”

      “Take all the time you need,” Dan said, not giving up on him, refusing once again to hear what Noah said. “I’ll be here, if you need me. I’ll keep looking for him here, be his shadow for a while. Till you get back. If I hear anything about him, I’ll call.”

      “Don’t,” Noah said, but the protest was a weak one. Good or bad, he still wanted to know, damn it all. He still cared.

      That was the one part he couldn’t hammer out of him no matter how hard he tried.

      As he clicked off the phone, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, smelled the sweet scent of apples. Victoria.

      “Noah,” she said quietly, her hand a caress against his tired muscles. “When you’re done, the room is ready. If you still want it. And the pie is waiting, too.” Then she turned and walked away, leaving him to make up his own mind.

      For a man trying to be a hermit, he seemed to be overrun with people trying to get close to him. Which was exactly why he couldn’t stay with Victoria Blackstone.