Because some part of me doubts its truth? Because of what I suspect about the story of Shelly? Because I’m selfish, and my question pries. I know enough about this man to know if I don’t pry, I won’t get any answers. And if there’s one thing I can’t leave Nevada without, it’s answers. I need to know the truth about who Shelly is to Luke. I need to hear it from his lips. He sits up in the bed, flexing his shoulders and wincing just a little. I have the urge to rub them, but it’s not the time or place. He’s eyeing me like he knows what I’ve been thinking. And maybe he does. Maybe he remembers telling me that it was “his fault” I was taken. I can’t believe that’s true, but I need to know. I stand frozen by the bed while he looks at me. Finally, in a low voice, he says, “I told you, didn’t I?” “Told me what?”
