When I wake up again, Angel is sitting in a chair with her feet up on the other end of the bedroom. There’s a Kindle in her hands, and a single ray of light is casting through the window, hitting her hair just right.

They call this time of day golden hour, because the sun’s low angle casts flattering light that accentuate peoples’ features.

But Angel doesn’t need golden hour to look perfect. The light hitting her like this brings her from perfect to dreamlike. Unattainable and untouchable.

Untouchable is how I should think of her. I got sloppy earlier. I let her touch me, and I agreed to stay here for too damn long.

I know for a fact that Napier saw me get injured. I know a few cars passed by her car while it was stopped to pick me up. Napier is corrupt, but he’s far from incompetent. All it would take is one solid witness. This is a small town, and there’s only so many people here who drive a damn Prius. Last night is pretty hazy, but I’m pretty sure she was driving a Prius.

She’s absorbed in her book and doesn’t realize I’m awake. I just lay there and look at her. It feels nice to be able to see her when she doesn’t know I’m looking. Not in a creepy way, but just to see how she acts when she’s in her own world. She smiles wide and taps the Kindle, then sits up and leans forward. She really likes whatever she’s reading.

“Good book?” I ask.

She almost jumps out of her chair, and before she even looks over at me, she taps the Kindle a few times. She stands up and puts the Kindle onto the chair. “How do you feel?”

“A lot better,” I say.

“I got a TV in here for you,” she says, pointing.

I look over and see she’s moved a small TV into the bedroom. It’s sitting on top of the dresser.

“There’s no cable in here,” she says, “Just the antenna.”

She grabs the remote and hits a button.

I’m not surprised at what flashes onto the screen, but it still hits me hard. It’s my own face. An old mugshot from when I had my head shaved, but it’s instantly recognizable as me. My face is in a little box, and the rest of the screen has white text in all capital letters detailing what I allegedly did.

Angel drops the remote and looks at the screen

“Alex Hightower is wanted for two counts of second-degree murder. If you have seen this man or anyone you think may resemble him, please call the Lake Diurna police department immediately. If you see this man, do not make any attempt to approach him. Go to a safe place, and call 911 immediately.”

I was right to run. I was right to be as cautious as I was. I was wrong to stay here.

“I knew…” she whispers. “I knew you did something, but murder?”

I get up off the bed, throwing the blankets aside. I put my good foot down, and then I test the bad leg. There’s no intense spasm of pain this time. I can limp at least.

I grab her by the wrist and squeeze. “I told you I was dangerous. You didn’t want to listen. Now you’re surprised when it turns out I’m exactly what I told you I was?”

Her lips tremble, and her eyes widen. She’s afraid. I feel her pulse beating like a jackhammer beneath my tight grip.

“Let go of me,” she whispers.

“You don’t want me to,” I say, nearly growling at her. “You like to be around dangerous men. Maybe you didn’t know it before now, but now that you’ve felt it–”

“Just tell me what happened,” she says, “In your words.”

“You said you wouldn’t ask,” I bark.

I pull her closer to me. We’re arguing, talking around each other, but our bodies are magnetically attracted. It feels like we’re about to kiss, and I’m holding her wrist now to keep her away from me rather than near me.

“The TV just told me,” she says. “So the promise doesn’t matter anymore. Just tell me you’re innocent. That you didn’t murder those men.”

“I’m a lot of things, Angel, but innocent ain’t one of them.”

I summon up all my willpower, and I use it to push her further away from me. I finally let go, but I hold a palm up as if to warn her not to step closer to me. Not to tempt me to kiss her again.

Why am I thinking of kissing her now? Of all things. I should be thinking of how I’m going to run. How I’m going to save my own ass.

“Alex,” she whispers, taking a step closer.

I take a step back. If I get near her again, I doubt I can pull away again.

“You don’t have plausible deniability anymore,” I say. “That’s the only reason I agreed to the 48 hours. I hate to break a promise, especially to you, but it’s not safe for you if I stay here anymore.”

I look down at myself. I’m still in nothing but boxers. “Where did you put my clothes? I need them.”

“You still can’t really walk,” she says.

I point at the TV. “I’m a wanted man. If you see me, you’re supposed to call the police. What do you think happens to you if they find out you saw me and didn’t call. Or hell, that you put me in your bed?”

She turns the TV off and throws the remote down onto the floor. The battery case snaps off and flies under the bed. “I didn’t see it. Now get back on the bed. You promised me 48 hours.”

I shake my head and push her aside. I limp past her and out of the room. “Where are my damn clothes?”

If I walk out naked, I’ll get caught immediately.

I stumble through her house, realizing I’ve never left the bedroom. Past the kitchen I see an open door with a washer and dryer. I limp through the kitchen and into the laundry room. There’s a basket no the washer, and my clothes are cleaned and neatly folded.

I tear them out and pull the shirt on. They look almost totally clean, but the collar has some trace of a dark blood stain.

I start to struggle with the jeans, and my leg flares with pain as I work the leg in.

“Alex,” she says, staring at me from the door. “Tell me your side of the story.”

“You really want me to be innocent, huh?” I ask. “Well I’m not, so move out of my way and let me through.”

When she doesn’t move, I push her aside. Even with a limp, she can’t stop me.

Just as I enter the kitchen again, there’s a loud knock at the door. It’s a cocky knock, one that is meant to immediately establish dominance and fear. It’s a knock I know and heard just before two men died.

It’s Napier.

Angel looks at me, and as soon as she sees my reaction she realizes there’s a problem. “You can...you can hide in the basement.”

“Is there a back door?” I ask.

She ignores me and grabs me by the arm. She all but drags me to a door, and she flicks the lights on. There’s a staircase leading down. Napier is here now. If I try to escape out the back with this limp, the chances of getting away are slim to nil, and if he catches me here, he’ll know Angel is helping me.

She could plead ignorance–say she didn’t know I was wanted. But there’s no real excuse for not taking me to the hospital, and Napier is not going to be bound by the law. He’ll do whatever he can to get to me, including using her.

“Go down,” she says. “There’s lots of places to hide.”

I take in a deep breath and start my way down the stairs.