Will crinkled his nose, shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Actually, love, that’s what I came here to talk to you about.”
I sighed and did my best to shoot Really? Right now? daggers at Will. “I thought you came here because you smelled bacon.”
“Well, that was an added bonus. But I was hoping you could help me out. I’m leaving for London tomorrow morning.” He turned to Sampson. “Going to go visit Mum. She’s getting on and having some trouble moving around the flat.”
I felt myself gape. “You’re leaving? Now? And what do you want me to do? Fill in as my own Guardian while you’re gone?”
“With all due respect, love, you’ve spent a good deal of time telling me how lousy I am at my job and how much you don’t need me. I mean, you are a crack shot with a Glock, right?” Will smiled, and his humor stabbed at me. My cheeks must have gone beet red because Sampson looked momentarily alarmed.
“She shot a guy in the arse.”
Sampson smiled, looking impressed. “You’ve come a long way.”
I blew out a sigh that came out an audible groan. There had been a time, once, when I was afraid of guns. It pretty much extended from the first time I shot a gun (I cried) until . . . right now. Yes, I’d shot a guy in the butt. But I’d been aiming for his head. And it’d been a matter of life or death and the backfire had still terrified me and made me pee a little bit when it happened. But before that, in another life-or-death situation (you know? I really need a vacation), I’d aimed my gun, steadied it . . . and thrown it at the red-eyed creature that broke into my apartment. So sue me; I was terrified. But it was true, I’d come a long way since then.
Well, at least I was able to hold on to my gun.
And the ass thing? Lucky shot.
“So you’re coming over here to let me know you’re out?”
“No. I was coming over here to ask you if you could water my fern.”
“You have a fern? You don’t even have a couch and you have a fern?”
“She’s called Esther. And she likes to listen to the football game in the late afternoon. Helps her get all bushy and all.”
Sampson nodded as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
“Fine. I’ll water your fern.” I pointed to Sampson. “But that doesn’t mean you’re any less protected and that we’re not going to get out of this being-hunted situation.”
Will clapped a hand over his chest and cocked his head. “Oh, I feel honored that my leaving takes nothing from the situation.”
I smiled sweetly. “Your leaving will take nothing from this situation right now, so why don’t you get to it?”
Will turned to Sampson. “How do you feel about ferns?”
“That’s perfect. Sampson could stay at your place while you’re gone. Esther gets hydrated, Sampson gets a little breathing room.” I nodded at Will. “You are good for something.”
Will raised fawn-colored eyebrows. “She always been this feisty?”
Sampson nodded. “Pretty much. And thanks for letting me stay at your place.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and adopted a kick-ass stance. Will seemed to get the message because he left without saying anything and once again my insides roiled, tortured and confused.
Sampson glanced at me. “Nice fellow.”
I nodded, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “Sure.”
Sampson paused for a beat, then held me with a serious look. “I’m not going to put you in danger, Sophie.”
“You mean—about Will?”
“About everything.”
“You keep saying that and I keep telling you: you’re not,” I said, putting my plate on top and taking the whole stack to the sink. I looked over my shoulder. “Besides, it’s been a long time since you’ve been around. I can take care of myself pretty well now.” I itched the back of my calf with the toe of my shoe. “Totally.”
And it wasn’t a total lie.
In my last couple of years as sole breather in the underworld, Vessel of Souls, and undefeated holder of the Most Likely to Bleed and/or Get Socked by a Bad Guy title, I learned a few things. One being that when it came to taking care of myself beyond the basic eating/sleeping/breathing essentials, I really couldn’t be trusted. The other was if there was bad to be found, I would run headlong into it (metaphorically), waving my arms and screaming like a maniac so that said bad didn’t miss me. This wouldn’t be terrible if I were some kind of supernatural ass kicker or even just a butch chick with a penchant for black leather, weapons, and wanting to kill a man just to watch him die. I wasn’t, but after the last couple of ass-whoopings and blubber-fests, I decided it was about time I put my big-girl panties on and learn some technique.