No denial.
I shook my head. “Truth. I still have seven questions left.”
“So do I.”
“Were you at that bar?”
“Yes.”
Six questions. Technically, by his rules, it was his turn to ask. I wasn’t following his rules.
“Who were they?”
“People I work with.”
“Killers?”
That left me with four questions.
“Delaney...just...” He stepped away, paced toward the kitchen, then back. He stopped and leaned his shoulder on the corner between kitchen and living room, right next to my little breakfast nook. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not involved in Sven’s death? How many times do I have to tell you I don’t know who was?”
I watched his eyes, watched the tension in his shoulders, his mouth. Part of what he said was a lie. Or maybe all of it.
“Only once if it’s the truth.”
He ground at his molars, watching me. I watched him back.
“I had nothing to do with Sven’s death.”
Your blood killed him. Those words locked right behind my teeth, but I couldn’t get them past my lips. I wanted to tell him what I knew. Come clean. Not just about Sven’s murder. About everything. About Ordinary, the creatures, the gods. His blood used as ichor techne.
Could he explain that?
I wanted to trust him. That was my problem. I wanted to tell him I knew he had to be involved, and I wanted him to have a reason, an irrefutable explanation that would clear him of this crime for good.
Maybe it was time to push this into the no-turning-back territory.
“Those men don’t have anything to do with your architecture business, do they?”
“Delaney.”
“They came here because they are a part of an agency. A group. Of hunters.”
Yep. I was putting cards on the table. No turning back. Pressuring him to react.
“A group of hunters,” he said. Was his voice a little tighter? “What are they going to hunt on the Oregon coast in August? Crabs?”
“Vampires.”
He held his breath.
That. That was enough of a tell. He knew. He knew about the hunters. Or vampires. Or both.
His eyebrows lifted up, and he exhaled on what sounded like a forced laugh. “Vampires? Are you bingeing on Buffy again?”
Nope. Not believing him. Too flippant, too tight, his voice too thin.
“Is that one of your questions?”
“No.”
“That group, and I’m assuming you by association, are here in town looking for vampires. I’m assuming you’ve either been hired by someone who trained you how to kill vampires, or you are working for an agency developed for the same reason.”
“I’m an architect,” he protested.
“And a shitty liar.”
We stood there, silent again and it felt like if one of us blinked, we would be declaring a surrender.
“Truth,” I said. “I know more about this town than you ever will, Ryder. And vampires amongst us is just scratching the surface of the weird here.”
“I don’t—”
I held up one finger. “Think very carefully about what you’re about to say. I am the law here. Law of this city, county, state, country, and above all that, law of Ordinary. I have vowed to keep Ordinary’s citizens safe. All of them. No matter their race, creed, or other circumstances. I failed Sven. But that doesn’t mean I will fail to bring his killer to justice. I’m brutally efficient at keeping the peace. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“That you believe vampires are real, and you might actually be a mob boss?”
“That I believe I have enough evidence to haul you in on murder charges. Unless you start talking and trust me to do my job to prove you’re innocent.”
“I am innocent! You’re the one telling me over and over that I’m guilty.”
“I’m trying to trust you here, Ryder. Could you trust me back a little?”
“Is that one of your questions?”
“Yes.”
“I’m trying.”
His jaw tightened and flexed, and his eyes narrowed, creasing lines in the corners and between his eyebrows. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and stuck one hand in his back pocket. It was a stance he took when he was unsure or going out on a limb.
“We’re going to take a second,” he said, “and do some hypothesizing.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“I’m very aware of that. If you’re telling me the truth, you are admitting that there are vampires in Ordinary. Are you using the term vampire as a metaphor or slang?”
“No.”
“How did Sven die? More than just a bullet through the head?”
Now he had five questions left. I nodded.
“He was a vampire?”
Again with the nod. Four.
“Who else in town is a vampire? Old Rossi? All the Rossis?”
“Is that one question or three?”
“One.”
“Pass.”
“Who were those men you met?” I asked. “Who do they work for? How do you work with them?”
“You only have one question left after this.”
“I know.”
He rolled one shoulder back and tipped his head so he was looking at me a little sideways. “I can’t—I can’t talk about that.” He said it so quietly, I almost missed it.
“You don’t want to make me doubt your level of involvement in this,” I said. “It won’t end well. You don’t know the kind of pressure I can bring to bear on this situation. On those men. On you.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Two. “I’m telling you the truth, Bailey. Deal with it.”
“You’re kind of hot when you’re all bossy and in control.”
“Flirting won’t work on me.”
It totally would.
“What will work on you?”
“You only have one question left after this.”
He took a couple steps forward, closing the space between us. “I know.”
What works on me? That sexy look. Your sexy eyes. That smile that makes my mouth go hot, and that purr you get in your voice when it drops an octave and teases across my spine.
“Honesty.”
“Honesty?” He was so close to me I could loop my fingers in the tops of his jeans almost without moving. “Or a confession maybe.”
“Honesty.”
His eyes were faded jade, flecks of brown scattered within them. He had a couple freckles on the arcs of his cheeks, almost invisible beneath his tan. His nose was strong, and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were trails of pain and joy. He was familiar waters and uncharted shores. He was the boy I’d always known and the man I’d never met.
He was innocent words and guilty eyes.
And he was absolutely not someone I should kiss.
Should not lean toward.
Should not slip my fingers along his waist and stroke up his back.
He bent just slightly, easing down to me, the shape of him, the scent, the heat swallowing up all my space, all my world, all my air.
“I’ve done some things I regret,” his words were warm puffs of air across my cheek, moving toward my mouth. “Breaking up with you before we really had a chance to see if we would work out is right up there on the top of my list. You want honesty? All right. I want this.”