I kept thinking about Painter’s promise to come back last night.
I should’ve called him. Should’ve let him know I was working and that we’d have to talk a different time. But there’d been some defiant, angry part of me that wanted him to sit around waiting, wondering where the hell I was, because fuck him and his orders.
Twelve hours later I was exhausted and grumpy and wishing like hell that I hadn’t set myself up like that—he’d find me sooner or later, and when he did, I’d be too tired to fight him.
“That cute security guard,” she said. “Aaron Waits. Damned shame, because he made nights like tonight a whole hell of a lot more fun.”
Good, I thought fiercely. I never wanted to see that fucker again.
“You’re married,” I pointed out. “Not like you could do anything with him.”
“Married doesn’t equal dead,” she replied, giving me a wink. “I can appreciate the scenery without touching it. Only ten more minutes until shift change—I can’t wait. I hate nights like tonight. So boring.”
She was right. Some shifts were hellish—terrible car accidents, people dying. Those were the kind of nights that stuck with you, haunting your dreams. But tonight had been the complete opposite. Only four patients, and two of them had colds. I’d never seen the place so empty.
“Day shift is screwed,” I said. “Because you just know the law of averages has to catch up to them sometime. Some kid is out there right now, playing with matches.”
She nodded at me, agreeing. Sooner or later, the patients would come.
But not for us. Not tonight.
“Let’s do the report,” the charge nurse said, coming toward us. “Not much to talk about.”
We filled the day shift in on our patients and then ten minutes later we were all clocked out. There hadn’t been much to share with them. Time to go home and catch some sleep before I had to deal with Izzy again. If I got lucky, Reese and London would keep her a few extra hours, let her watch some TV. I might even get a nap.
? ? ?
Painter’s big blue Harley was parked outside my house.
I thought about the gun hidden inside. About the way he’d beaten up Aaron. What might’ve happened if Aaron and I had gotten pulled over, searched.
What a mess.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, not bothering to question how Painter had gotten inside. He was a Reaper—so far as I could tell, things like locks and walls didn’t apply to them. I mean, he’d walked all over every other boundary I’d ever had, so why should this be any different?
He wasn’t in the living room, but I heard music playing from one of the bedrooms. Dropping my keys and purse on the table, I kicked off my shoes and contemplated making myself a cup of coffee before facing him. Of course, that meant I’d have trouble napping should a miracle occur and I actually got the opportunity.
I’d sort of expected to find him in my bedroom, maybe pawing through my underwear drawer. The sound came from Izzy’s room, though. Frowning, I walked to her door, pushing it open slowly. He was inside, painting one of her walls. The floor was covered in tarps, and the bed had been pushed into the center of the room. Along the wall he’d done a blue sky over green grass, leaving a large empty hole in the center. Now he was sketching on it with a thick charcoal pencil, although I couldn’t quite tell what he was drawing from here.
“Hey,” I said hesitantly, not quite sure what to expect. He turned to glance at me, eyes flickering over my scrubs.
“Hey.”
I sidled into the room, off-balance. I’d expected to be fighting with him by now—this was weird. “Whatcha doing?”
“Designing a mural for Izzy,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind—we’d talked about it a while ago. I was waiting for you last night and figured I might as well get started.”