He settled down on the couch, one arm spread across the back, the other propping the tumbler on his thigh. “No, really, it was given to me after the festival. Haven’t opened it, but the expiration date is something like two years from now. The juice that never dies. Vampire juice.”
I felt all the blood drain out of my face. “Why are you talking about vampires?” Even though my pulse was running too quickly, I was assessing his body language, and possible aggression levels.
Ryder and I were friends. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take him down, cuff him, hell, tase him, if he made the wrong move.
“It was a joke? Apparently a bad joke. What do you have against vampires? Read too many teen books?”
He was smiling, but there was something false about it. Something about his smile that wasn’t my friend. Ryder had been gone for eight years. It was moments like this when I remembered there were parts of him I did not know. “Or maybe you’ve seen someone suspiciously vampire-like lately?”
He lifted his glass, swallowed the amber liquid, his gaze never leaving mine.
It was that motion, the bend of his arm to bring the glass to his lips that caught my eye. His long shirt sleeve was tailored, a little tight on his muscular arms. It was buttoned at the cuff, but there was a bulkiness under the material, at the bend of his elbow.
A bandage?
“I need you to unbutton your sleeve for me,” I said.
His head tipped to the side, as if he hadn’t quite heard me correctly. “What?”
“I need you to unbutton your sleeve.”
“You want me to get undressed?”
“No. Just the sleeve. The left sleeve.”
“Why?”
“There’s been some trouble in town. I need to see your left arm.”
He leaned forward and placed the glass on the coffee table in front of him. “What if I say no?”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know. I thought we were going to talk.”
“This is talking. We’re talking.”
“No.” He leaned back against the couch, but did not look relaxed. “Were you outside watching my house because of whatever’s happened in town?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So this is police business, and even though I am a reserve officer, you’re not going to tell me what’s going on before you ask me to strip?”
“I didn’t ask you to strip. It’s just an arm, Ryder.”
“From the look on your face and your tone of voice, it’s a lot more than just an arm. What happened?”
“Someone was killed.”
“What?” He shot straight off the back of the couch, a look of complete surprise on his face. “Who? When? Here? In Ordinary? Have you caught the killer? No, of course you haven’t, you’re here. Wait. You think I’m the killer? Me?”
The cascade of emotions and reactions he rolled through seemed genuine. If anyone else but my childhood friend were acting the way he was, I’d believe them.
But there was something about the tightness at the edge of his eyes, something about the hard line of his mouth that belied his actions.
Oh, Ryder. This is one time in your life you’re going to regret that you and I were such good friends.
Cop instincts told me to play along, to act like I believed him. To act like he didn’t know anything about Sven’s death. Even though my heart was sinking, and a part of me wanted to find a small room, shut the door and just scream and scream, I instead took a drink of water.
“I need to see your arm. You don’t show it to me, I’ll put you in cuffs, take you into the station and cut the shirt off of you.”
He blinked a couple times as if my words confused him.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m not kidding.”
He opened his mouth and inhaled, then let the breath out in a huff. “I can’t believe you think I’m lying.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He unbuttoned his left cuff but lifted his hand and sort of waved his finger at me. “That face says otherwise.”
“What face?”
“The I-think-you’relying face.”
“And you’re not?”
He shook his head and then rolled up the sleeve. “I don’t have anything to hide. Why would I lie?”
His sleeve was rolled up to just below the bend in his elbow. “Happy?” He turned his arm so I could see it. It was a nice forearm. Muscled, tan from whatever spring sun we’d gotten months ago. There were a couple of scars that had healed white beneath the dusting of hair.
But that wasn’t the part of his arm I needed to see.
“The whole thing,” I said.
“My sleeve doesn’t roll up any farther.”
“Then take off your shirt.”
He smiled and there was a hard edge to the grin. “So you are trying to get me naked.”
“Just your arm.”
“All right.” The word had a bit of a drawl to it. Ryder leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt. My gaze flicked away from his face long enough to see he was wearing a T-shirt beneath the button down.
He tugged at the rolled up sleeve, then pushed his shirt off both shoulders, letting it pool around his low back.
His elbow was wrapped with a light gauze which was holding down a pad at the inside of his elbow.
“So what happened to your arm?”
“I gave blood.”
“To whom?”
“The Girls Scouts.” His eyebrows dipped down tight and he looked really confused. “Red Cross. Who else?”
“Do you donate often?”
“When I can.”
“Here in town?”
“No. I was in Seattle at a meeting. But there was a blood drive going on outside the restaurant next to the hotel.”
“So you decided to stop in and do your civic duty. How very Boy Scout of you, Bailey.”
“You’re not a fan of saving lives?”
I held his gaze. I couldn’t accuse him of giving blood to be used as a vampire murder weapon. But I could get my hands on the Red Cross record base. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of vamps who worked for the agency, and I was sure Rossi knew a few who would be able to tell us if Ryder had actually donated.
“I’m a police officer,” I said after another sip of water. “I’m all about saving lives.”
“Then why are you staring at me like I’m keeping secrets?”
“Because you’re keeping secrets.”
His expression stayed closed off, flat. And then a little grin—a very Ryder grin—curved his mouth. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t think it, I know it.”
He nodded. “So are you.”
I lifted one eyebrow, so he continued. “Keeping secrets. What aren’t you telling me, Delaney? Is there something about the death that I should know about?”
“Nothing I’m at liberty to share.”
He pulled the remainder of his shirt tails out of his slacks and tossed the shirt casually over the arm of the couch. Then he leaned forward, arms resting across his thighs, hands clasped. He looked like a man who was about to make a deal.
“I want to make a deal.”
Called it.
“No.”
“You wouldn’t say no if you heard the deal.”
“Still no.”
“I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“And why would you do that?”
“There are some rules.”
“Rules.”
“My deal. My rules.”He held out one finger even though they were still linked. “One: I can refuse three questions.”
“Okay.” Despite myself, I was warming up to this game.
“Two: you can only ask me ten questions.”
“Okay.” No deal breakers yet.
“Three: you have to agree to the same for me. Answer seven of the ten questions I ask you. Honestly.”