Page 38 of Obsession

I try another tactic. “I prefer the people that work for me to be safe. You don’t have reliable transportation or a way to get anywhere if I need you right away. You were the one that picked up on details today we need to pursue, and I want you to report to my team directly so we can pool our resources. If anyone or anything hurts you, our entire operation is at risk.”

She nods, slowly. “I see. But still, no.”

Maddening woman! I clench my teeth and force myself to speak calmly. “And what will you do if someone attacks you?”

She’s quiet for a minute, then finally shrugs. “You’re not the only one with weapons, Mr. Master.”

This woman’s full of surprises.

“Fine. I’ll take you home. Pack a bag so you’re ready for the next time we work together. I’ll send one of the company cars to your house for your use.”

“Thank you.” Finally, something she doesn’t argue with.

She gives me her address, and we drive the rest of the way to her home in silence.

“You’re brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.” Jesus, I haven’t met anyone in years who’s so goddamn free with me. Does she have zero sense of self-preservation? We don’t speak again for long minutes, as the houses and cars pass by our windows, dimly lit in the moonlight. Streetlamps cast shadows on the street and sidewalks.

When we’re a block away, she turns to me.

“I’m sorry about your sister. Tonight, I’m going to look up anything and everything I can. I’ll make a list of notes and leads, and come over tomorrow to help you continue the investigation. And if anything happens while I’m gone, please let me know.”

“I will. Look up everything you can about the flowers and the cases they suspect are linked.”

“I will.”

“You should get some sleep, though.”

“So should you.”

We both know neither one of us will sleep tonight.

I hate that my sister’s out there. I hate that we have so little to go on.

It’s easier to handle cases that don’t involve the people you love.

And I hate that Violet’s going home.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Violet

It seemslike I’ve lived a dozen lives this week, and I’m weary. So tired, my bones feel like they creak, and my eyelids feel paper thin. I want to crawl in my bed, face first, right on top of the blankets and not get up again for a good, long while.

I left here this morning wanting to get hired by Cain Master.

I got a lot more than I bargained for.

His huge, ambling truck pulls out in front of my place. My landlord Troy’s smoking a butt on the top stoop, and he doesn’t even bother to try to hide the fact that he’s scoping out Cain and his truck. I watch him take a drag, then let the smoke out slowly. He tosses it to the next step down and grinds it under his heel before he starts to come our way.

Seriously?

“Who’s this?” Cain murmurs, his voice deceptively casual.

“Landlord. Usually just keeps to himself. This is weird.”

“He got a thing for you?”

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