Steve shrugged. “Since Sophie left. Steve lost sight of her. Steve should never lose sight of Sophie.”
Parker leaned in to me. “What is he again?” he whispered.
“Troll,” I murmured.
Steve reached up and laced his fingers through mine. “Lover.”
I shook them off. “Not.” I paused. “How did you even get in here?”
Steve grinned, rolling up on his toes. “Steve has ways.”
I glared at him, and he sighed. “Steve fits through the bathroom window.”
“So this”—Parker pointed to the shards of wood hanging from the door frame—“wasn’t you? You didn’t break into Sophie’s apartment?”
Steve wagged his head.
“Then you must have seen who did. Or heard it. Did you? Did you see anything? Did you see who chased Mr. Howard?” I knelt down to be eye to eye with Steve.
Steve’s gray cheeks flush a deeper gray. “Steve took a little nap.” He grinned. “He was dreaming about Sophie.”
I pointed to the open door. “Get out, Steve! And stop following me. And don’t ever break into my apartment again!”
Steve eyed me and flared his nostrils at Parker. “Steve will go this time, but Steve will be always around. Steve will make this up to Sophie.” He pointed a stubby finger at Parker’s kneecaps. “And you, breather, you’d better watch your step. Steve has his eye on you.”
Parker raised his eyebrows as Steve waddled out the front door. I sighed, made sure Steve was actually gone, and closed the door after him.
“Interesting friend you’ve got there,” Parker said, a half smile playing on his lips. “Parker thinks he might have some competition.”
My stomach fluttered despite the stench of gunpowder and sleeping troll hanging in the air. “Right. Now, what about that pizza?”
Parker went for the pizza box he dropped on the counter as I turned around, scanning my apartment. I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“Everything looks the same in here. I mean”—I picked up Steve’s golf club and tossed it back into the closet—“it doesn’t look like anything was stolen.”
“We think Mr. Howard scared the intruder before he actually had a chance to get in.”
I shuddered, glancing around at my IKEA furniture, my collection of overdue library books, the hand-me-down pillows from Grandma’s old couch. “What would anyone want to break in here for?”
Parker shrugged, heading into the kitchen and helping himself to napkins and plates.
I swallowed, feeling my muscles tense. I stared at the carpet. “Do you think it was an intruder, or do you think it was Mr. Sampson?”
Parker slid a piece of pizza onto a plate and handed it to me. “You should eat something.”
I rested the plate on the table.
“You think it was Sampson, don’t you?”
Parker turned his back to me, rattling around in my drawers. “Do you have a bottle opener?”
“Answer me.”
Parker’s rattling stopped and he turned, his blue eyes sharp. “I think it was Sampson. And I’m not entirely convinced that Mr. Howard fell on his own. I think Pete Sampson really wants to find you.” Parker slid the plate back toward me. “You really should eat something.”
“I’m too creeped out to eat.”
Parker snaked my plate and swallowed my pizza in one gulp.
“Obviously you’re not.”
He went for a second piece. “I need to keep my strength up. Someone’s got to look after you.”
I glanced up at Parker as he studied the grain on the table.
“I don’t need taking care of,” I told him.
Parker swallowed, then took a long pull of his beer. “Yes, you do. That’s why I’m staying here tonight.”
That familiar anger started to roil again. “Says who?”
“Says me.” He leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet onto the table and reaching for the remote control.
“Don’t make yourself comfortable.” I lifted up Parker’s ankles and dropped his feet to the floor. “Besides, I think I’d rather take my chances with the killer, thank you very much.”
I stood up, holding the front door open, but Parker didn’t move. Instead he just flashed that Cheshire grin and took another swig of his beer.
“You’re spunky,” he said finally. “I like that.”
“I’m not joking, Parker.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I appreciate your help, but I can take care of myself.” I eyed the open door. “Thank you for the shooting lessons. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow?”
Parker stood up reluctantly and slid his jacket off.
“Parker!”
“Relax,” he said, striding up to me. “I’m going. But I’m not leaving you unprotected.” Parker took my palm and laid his gun, still warm from his chest, into it. “You know how to shoot and you know how to dial the phone to reach me. I really hope you’ll do the latter.”
I lifted my chin. “Thank you.”
“It’s loaded, so be careful. Put it somewhere safe.”
And then he kissed me.
Parker Hayes closed my hand, pushed my arm to my side, and swept a delicate kiss over my lips.