“I can take care of myself,” Miki huffed. “I’ve been at it a while.”
“You’re as skinny as shit and look like you haven’t been out in the sun since you were hatched. So excuse me if I don’t believe you,” Kane drawled and leaned against his elbows, cradling the remains of his burrito in his hands. He took a bite and chewed, then swallowed. “And God, you pissed me off when I first met you.”
“Dude pissed you off,” Miki pointed out. “I just answered the door.”
“No, you pissed me off too,” Kane said, waving the last bit of burrito at Miki. “You should’ve kept your dog inside or leashed. I only just found out you know jack shit about owning a dog.”
“He didn’t come with a how-to book, you know.” Miki helped himself to one of the carrots and tentatively took a bite. He spit out into a napkin and reached for the horchata to cool off his tongue. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“I think you kind of need someone to have your back.” The cop reached over and took Miki’s bag of carrots. “Don’t take this wrong, but you’re kind of in a shitty situation. They’ve found a dead body in your garage—”
“You found a dead body in my garage.”
“What did you think I was going to do? Help you get rid of it? Walk away?” Kane lifted his eyebrows. “I’m a cop… what did you think was going to happen?”
“Dunno. Shing wasn’t there when I went out to start the car. Wasn’t like I planned anything.” Miki shrugged. “Like I told Sanchez, the car was running for about fifteen minutes before Dude came in and I grabbed him. He was being an asshole about the tub, so I thought I would turn it off. That’s when I found you all Malcolm Reynolds in my garage.”
“Someone put him there,” Kane said. “Someone went specifically to where you lived and dumped a dead man into your car. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Yeah,” Miki replied softly. “But what am I going to do? Crawl under my bed? I can ask Edie if she’ll find a security company, I guess, but I don’t want some guy I don’t know lurking over me.”
“I don’t like you being there alone, and I don’t know why I give a shit. You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since I’ve met you,” he grumbled at the singer. “I don’t want you going back there without taking some precautions.”
“Luckily, you’re not my mother,” Miki shot back. “Or fucking me, ’cause then you’d have something to say.”
The scrutiny went from guarded to hot, and Miki met Kane’s gaze straight on.
“Who’s Edie?” Kane finally asked.
“My manager….” Miki paused. “Ex-manager. I don’t know. She’s… she deals with all the big life shit I can’t figure out. Taxes, music rights… that kind of stuff. She used to be on the road with us. Now she’s handling other bands, but she still… does Sinner’s Gin’s crap too. We talk every once in a while. If there’s something I’ve got to make a decision on, she calls. Sometimes she just calls to nag.”
“I’ve got to get this woman’s number,” Kane muttered under his breath. “Maybe she can get you to get some help.”
“She’s tried. I just want to be left alone.”
“Excuse me, Greta, but someone needs to watch your ass since you don’t seem to be doing such a good job of it.”
“You offering to?” Miki smirked, then wrinkled his nose. “Who’s Greta?”
“Jesus, it’s like you were raised by wolves. Greta Garbo. Never mind, we’ll catch you up to the real world later.” Kane sighed heavily. “And yeah, that’s what I’m offering, Miki. There’s something shitty going on around you, and if you’re not going to keep an eye on that skinny ass of yours, then I’ll do it for you.”
“My ass isn’t that skinny,” he grumbled. “And I’m fine. I don’t need—”
“You do need.” Kane cut him off. “That dog of yours only seems good for biting cops, and there was a fucking dead body left in your car. If you’re not careful, Miki, the next dead body is going to be yours.”
IT TOOK Kane five minutes of sitting in his car and staring at the front of the warehouse before he felt comfortable driving away from Miki St. John’s place. He knew it was silly. Someone from Forensics was still inside the garage doing last minute lab-monkey stuff, and Casey promised to have someone on patrol lurk nearby. Still, when the front door closed behind the singer’s pert ass, Kane wanted to pound on the door until he could see those hazel eyes again.
“Like it’s his door you want to pound, Morgan,” Kane muttered to himself as he turned the key in the SUV’s ignition. His phone started singing about being sexy and knowing it, and he sighed heavily before putting the car into gear. Kane thumbed on his earpiece and barked into the phone, “What’s up, Sanchez?”
“Got a small situation over here in Chinatown. Feel up to hanging out with a gorgeous Puerto Rican for a couple of hours?”