“That I’ll tell you to go home.” He gave me a look that said it wasn’t a hypothetical suggestion.
I nodded and grabbed my purse, but I paused at the door. “John, it’s important I find this guy. Like life-and-death important. Just . . . just give me a call if you can.”
I didn’t stay and press him. It wouldn’t help, I knew that. Without waiting for him to sputter something about police business or ongoing cases, I left.
? ? ?
By the time I reached my house, I was more than a little discouraged. I’d heard nothing from the satyr at the Bloom, which, as it was fairly early in the day, was not surprising, but I realized I didn’t even know when he’d be bartending next. For all I knew he was required to work only once or twice a week. I hadn’t heard from Falin either. I’d taken a taxi back to yesterday’s crime scene to retrieve my car, and I was sure he’d be at my place by the time I drove home, but when I pulled up to the house, the driveway was empty.
But my porch wasn’t empty.
I stopped, my foot frozen above the bottom step leading to my rented room. A tall figure stooped in front of my door, something long and wrapped in black paper in his arms. Whatever the object was, I couldn’t tell if he’d been in the process of picking it up or putting it down when I’d mounted the steps, but he straightened when he heard me, turning to face the stairs.
Ryese grinned down at me from the landing in front of my door. The bright sunlight caught in his hair, making it glisten like crystal refracting light and spilling prisms of color around his face. The effect was blinding. I frowned at him and briefly considered turning and getting back in my car, but I wasn’t going to be driven away from my own home. Not more than I already had been, anyway.
I took the stairs at a slow, but deliberate pace. While I didn’t relish seeing the fae, and I was more than a little unsure about what his presence at my home meant, I didn’t want him to see me frightened. Still, it took everything I had not to draw my dagger as I climbed the last few steps.
“Lexi, dearest,” he said, opening his arms as if he’d sweep me into an embrace.
I stopped, out of arm’s reach, and glanced at what he carried. The long, paper-wrapped object turned out to be the largest bouquet of roses I’d ever seen. Black roses at that, mixed with sprigs of delicate baby’s breath. It was a striking contrast.
“What’s that?” I nodded at the roses.
Ryese glanced down as if he’d forgotten about the flowers. Then he shot me a sheepish smile. No, not sheepish, guilty.
“This? Nothing. I—” He swung the bouquet over the porch rail as if he intended to drop it.
I stepped forward and grabbed the paper-wrapped roses. Something about the whole situation was off. Not like a trap, though if that thought had entered my mind a moment earlier I probably would have hesitated long enough for him to toss the bundle, but the resounding thought in my head was that black really wasn’t Ryese’s color. He tended to deck himself out in so much white it was blinding. And the queen favored things dusted in ice or snow.
Ryese scowled as I rescued the roses, but quickly covered the expression with a blatantly insincere smile. “Shall we linger in doorways like a couple of peasants?” he asked, gesturing toward my door.
I ignored him and fished the card from among the roses.
FOR MY LOVELY BETROTHED.
There was no signature, but with that message, it didn’t really need one. Dugan had been here.
I tucked the card back into the bouquet, careful to keep my expression schooled to neutral. Now that I knew for certain where it had come from, I couldn’t care less if the roses ended up tossed in the trash—or over the rail—but Ryese was watching, his expression dark, and I didn’t want to show my hand. I had no doubt he’d report back to the Winter Queen on whatever I did. He may or may not know who had sent the roses, but I doubted he’d missed the word “betrothed” on the card.
So, I kept my features neutral as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Then I had a moment of uncertainty. Theoretically I should put the roses in a vase of water or something. But I didn’t own a vase. I wasn’t really a flowers kind of girl. I settled for placing the still-wrapped bouquet on the counter before turning back to Ryese, who, no real surprise, had followed me in.
“What do you want?”
“Lexi, Lexi, Lexi, is that any way to treat your beloved?”
I cocked an eyebrow—I’d been practicing and I was damn good at it now. He was most certainly not my beloved. Hell, he wasn’t even my “beliked.”
When I just crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, he coughed quietly and turned away. His attention settled on PC, who normally greeted my guests, but was standing a careful distance away from Ryese, sniffing. Smart dog.
“That is one ugly mutt,” Ryese said, shaking his head.
My fists clenched, heat lifting to my face. “You’re not endearing yourself here.”