Dawn put a hand on her coworker’s shoulder. “Everything’s copasetic.”
“I can’t believe you’re so sure about that.”
Matt laughed, a white flag of truce. “Keep friends like her around, Dawn.”
She’d never introduced Breisi to Matt and didn’t see the need to do it now. “Breez, can I…?”
The other woman kept her eyes on the rival PI. “I don’t like leaving you on a dark street by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself. I’m with him.”
She went dead serious. “I know.”
“Breez…”
“All right.” She backed away, shot Matt another glare. “I’m going to be in the car and I’ll be on the phone to the office at the same time. Just in case.”
“Yes, Mom.”
It’d been meant as a jest, but as Breisi widened her eyes, Dawn realized just how uncomfortable the comment was. If it wasn’t for Frank’s disappearance, Breisi might’ve been her stepmom one day.
Her coworker went to the other side of the SUV, the slam of the vehicle’s door reverberating. Matt shifted position, automatically drawing Dawn’s gaze to him.
Unable to resist, she walked closer, feeling the heavy vibration that always filled the space between their bodies. He grinned a little, offering the daisies again.
“Long time no see,” he said softly.
Dawn just about sighed. His voice. Graveled. Hot.
Taking the flowers, she awkwardly held them. Sad fact: she’d never gotten a gift like this from a guy before, so she didn’t know exactly what to do with them.
“I guess,” she said, “our jobs aren’t the best for scheduling leisure time, huh?”
He’d asked her out before, and they’d decided to do an actual date once Frank had been discovered. That way, there’d be no conflicts. Hopefully. But it’d happened before she’d found Matt skulking around Klara Monaghan’s murder scene. Before she’d felt the machete at his back. Before she thought she’d seen that machete fly through the air from an unknown assailant and whack off Robby Pennybaker’s arm.
Had he been hunting vamps that night, too?
She couldn’t even ask him. He wouldn’t tell her anyway, just like she couldn’t reveal the specifics about what she did with Limpet and Associates.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” she asked.
“Pure chance.” He risked a glance at the car, where Breisi was staring daggers while talking on the phone. “I was driving home when I saw your one-of-a-kind vehicle parked here. I ran into that grocery for the flowers”—he pointed across the street to an all-night shop whose windows lit the darkness—“and…voilà.”
“These are nice. Thank you.” She smelled them. Fresh and simple. The stems were wet, making them as slick as the excuse he’d just given her. She didn’t know if she believed it, but she didn’t want to think he’d been following her, either.
Yet what had he said the last time she’d seen him, before he’d disappeared into the night again?
I know you better than you can ever imagine. I’ve had access to files, Dawn. I’ve done surveillance on you, watched your films, talked to people you’ve known. And bit by bit, I…I liked what I found.
A shiver traveled from her toes up to her neck. Along the way, the cold, white heat seared through her belly, making her wonder if she was turned on or afraid.
Either way, she liked it. Freak.
During one of the phone calls they’d engaged in lately—who had time to meet face-to-face?—he’d briefly apologized for springing the confession on her and causing the situation to sound creepy. But he’d likened his interest to a guy who had a crush on a girl whose locker was just two feet away from his own in high school. Maybe they never talked to each other, he’d explained, but he’d seen how she smiled, knew about her accomplishments from hall gossip. He’d told her that, once he’d seen her reaction to his confession, he’d been so mortified that he’d left her when a phone call had diverted Dawn’s attention.
She could buy that. Matt had a bashful streak, and she found that sweet. And, even if he wouldn’t admit it, she suspected he’d decided to court her on the phone, taking off the pressure to see him, giving himself a chance to test her out with the screen of a cell phone instead of getting rejected in person. The “I’m busy” excuses were a smoke screen, she guessed, and she liked that he thought enough of her to actually care.
Now, he reached out to touch her, skimming her ear, where she used to wear a blood-moon pendant before laying it to rest in a suitcase underneath a pile of clothing.
He paused, as if asking where it was. He’d liked to run his fingers along it, to see the fake silver-and-ruby strands stir.