The Sleuth Will Set You Free - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Six

Finally, my shoulder relinquished its grasp.  "Got that out of your system?" Collins asked, steadying the bag.  He should have been freaking out—should have been fussing over me like everyone else always did, but he didn't.  Instead, he just sounded bored.

I tried to pop my neck, which proved to be a mistake.  "Take a few steps closer.  Maybe we'll find out."

It was meant to be an empty threat.  Another snide remark to remind him that he wasn't my friend and that he didn't want to be.  But if there was one thing that I should have learned about Collins by then, it was that he'd always take those extra steps.  Especially if they would make me want to punch him.  "You want to hit me?  Fine.  Hit me."

"Collins," Macey warned.

"You said that I couldn't hit her," he argued, looking over his shoulder.  When he turned back to me, he took his favorite stance—defense.  Always on the defense.  He swiped the back of his hand across his lip and pinned his eyes on me. "You never said anything about her hitting me, so c'mon, Goode.  Give it your best shot.  I dare you."

My hands curled into fists, the tape strangling my knuckles until my fingers started to feel purple.  The heat rose—that same heat that he so often brought forward—as he pulled out that half-smile of his and waited. 

I think he knew.  I think he knew that some part of me still couldn't move.  Still couldn't throw a punch.

But it wasn't my shoulder holding me back.  It was my head.  It was always my head.

Because even when standing against Collins, the facts remained the facts.  Taking a swing opened up my defense.  Taking a swing exposed me.   To take a swing was to take a risk and I, Morgan Goode, was absolutely petrified by the idea of risk-taking.  Powerless.  I was powerless.

Collins straightened, nodding.  "That's what I thought," he said, except, for once in his life, his ego didn't drown out his words.  He almost sounded genuine.  Almost.  "You can't, can you?"

And I couldn't, so I just stared down the boy who could dissect the truth and I didn't say a word.

Point two: Collins.

"You know," he said, stepping closer.  When I took a step back, he did too, the two of us repelling better than a pair of like poles.  "If you would stop trying to hate me for five minutes, you might actually find that I'm a pretty good resource."

"Resource for what?"

He huffed towards the sky as if begging for his guardian angel to look down and agree that what he had told them was true—Morgan Goode really was the most stubborn girl alive.  Then his eyes met mine again and it was like he remembered where he was.  "I was Captain of the Gathering for four years, Goode," he said.  "We have similar training, similar experiences—I know how to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Oh?" he said.  It was that distinct tone he took on when he caught someone in a lie and couldn't wait to out them.  "Because, last time I checked, you'd take a swing at me every chance you got.  Now all of a sudden you don't?"

Collins had a real gift for tearing apart lies.  I didn't like the guy, but that much was undeniable.  The kid had a gift, and sometimes it felt like he might have even seen my lies easier than he saw everyone else's, so that was why I didn't answer.  If I had, I would have only given him more ammo—more material to work with.  If I had, Collins and I would have been taken right back to that starry night on a Romanian bridge when he knew all of my tells and spotted all of my secrets. 

He gave me that sly half-grin.  "Oh," he said again, this time far more mischievous.  "I see what's going on here—Romania, right?  Let the record show that if you dance the tango with Morgan Goode, she gets all weak in the knees for you."