Unwanted Blood (Harper) novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Adrian’s POV

The next morning, Ryder appeared in the hallway in clothes that didn’t draw attention, car keys in his hand.

“I’m going to see that contact,” he said. “If it goes clean, I’ll be back tonight. If it doesn’t-” He paused, his eyes moving across the room. “Don’t wait for me.”

Harper was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed. “What time do we switch to the backup plan?” she asked. “If we don’t hear from you.”

“We’ll decide on the road. ” Ryder looked at her. Harper nodded.

As he passed me on the way to the door, his gaze stopped on me for a fraction of a second. I held his gaze without wavering. After a long moment, he said nothing and walked out.

The door shut behind him. The house went quiet.

Colton was half-reclined on the sofa, his injured leg elevated on the footstool, a notebook balanced on his knee. He was trying to write with his left hand and failing-the lines were crooked, the angles wrong. He cursed under his breath and crossed out another entry.

Harper stood at the window for a while, watching Ryder’s car shrink down the street until it disappeared behind the corner. Then she turned and walked into the kitchen.

I sat in the corner chair for a few minutes, then I followed her and walked into the kitchen.

She was at the counter, pulling vegetables out of bags, lining them up on the cutting board.

I’ll help,” I said. I stepped up to the other end of the counter and picked up the second knife.

“Really?” she asked, surprise flickering across her face.

I grinned. “Harper, I’m not as useless as you think.” Ever since my mother died, I’d spent years cooking for myself.

“I never said you were,” she protested.

“Oh? Your expression says otherwise.” My smile widened.

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“I just figured rich kids like you don’t usually cook,” Harper said, pressing her lips together “Ryder and the others have probably never even stepped into a kitchen.”

I nodded. “That’s true. But my situation was different.”

Harper gave me a curious look, then quickly looked away. Maybe she thought I was lying. In her eyes, I was no different from the rest of them-if anything, I was worse. I was their enemy

A bitter smile tugged at my lips, and I let the subject drop.

For the next while, we worked in silence.

I started on the carrots to thin rounds. She was handling the greens, rinsing, spinning, tearing. The kitchen filled with the sounds of water running, steel on wood, the soft thud of vegetables being portioned.

After I finishing the first batch, I moved to the second set-onions this time. I was lining up the diced pieces along the edge of the board, neat, when she reached across for an empty bowl sitting in front of me.

Before she could reach for it, I handed her the bowl.

“Thanks,” she said, looking at me.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled. She was really shy. In fact, I rarely saw her smile unless she was with Ethan or Lily. Something tightened in my chest. It was a feeling I’d never known before.

After that, I withdrew my hand and went back to sweeping the diced onion into a pile.

I was about to tip the pile into a bowl when Colton’s voice came from the living room. “Adrian. Come here a second. I can’t make sense of this timeline.”

I set the knife down and walked out.

He was pointing at a spread of papers on the coffee table-handwritten notes, dates, names, arrows connecting events that didn’t always line up. His left-hand scrawl made it worse.

I studied it for a moment.

“You’ve got a day wrong,” I said. My voice was even. “He went into the hospital on a Friday. Not a Thursday. The nurse’s shift log confirms it.”

I didn’t wait for a follow-up. I turned and headed back to the kitchen.

I’d taken two steps when Colton called again. “Adrian, can you bring me my water? My leg’s not

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Chapter 83

letting me get up.”

288 Vouchers

I stopped. Set the plate I’d been carrying back on the counter. Filled a glass from the tap. Walked it out to him.

I set it on the table within his reach. Then I looked at him.

He was holding the pen in his left hand, his injured leg resting awkwardly on the stool. I looked at him, and he looked completely innocent.

“I know what you’re doing,” I sighed. “And you don’t need to.”

His hand on the pen stopped. He didn’t respond. He didn’t deny it either.

I turned and went back to the kitchen.

Harper was at the stove, something sizzling in the pan. I went back to my end of the counter and picked up the knife again. More vegetables.

After an hour, the food was almost done.

Carrying a steaming bowl of soup, Harper turned toward the table. She never saw the small puddle on the floor, likely left from rinsing the vegetables. As soon as she stepped on it, her foot slid out from under her.

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