Page 8 of The Shadow

“Why’d you ask me to get a drink?”

I smirk at her forwardness. She’s timid but bold. “Why not?” I lean back in the booth, my legs stretching out beneath the table. “We are neighbors, have been for a while now, and I guess we could consider ourselves friends?” She scrunches up her face. “Acquaintances?”

“Friendly acquaintances.” She smiles.

“That become friends?” She nods and takes a sip of her water when the waitress brings our drinks around. “To becoming friends.” I lift my martini, gently bumping my glass to hers.

“I haven’t seen you around much. Jameson said you guys took some time off?”

I nod. “Yeah, much needed. The last few cases we had were a lot. The guys needed time with their families.”

“Did you spend time with your family?” I stare at her for a moment, the sudden urge to tell her that I don’t have any family anymore almost overtaking me, but I push it away.

“I didn’t. I just continued to take on jobs, some of which had me away for a while. How’s your job? I think I heard you got a promotion so congrats.” I lift my glass again, but she doesn’t. Her eyes shift down and away from mine and I watch as her throat constricts tightly.

“Thank you, yes, I did.” She spins the glass around by the base.

“Who was he?” I finally say and her face goes white. She lifts her glass to her lips, taking a much longer drink than before. She closes her eyes, the liquor clearly burning her chest as she swallows it.

“My boss.”

“Your boss? He came to your home?” My brow knits together. “Did you invite him over?” I already know the answer, but it’s confirmed when she shakes her head no. My chest tightens.

“Is that why you brought me here?” Her shoulders shift back, her demeanor shifting.

“Is that why you looked at me the way that you did?” I stare back at her, but she doesn’t answer me. “Look, Aspen, I’m not going to lie to you or play games. I can read people. It’s my job; it’s saved my life and thousands of other lives so when I tell you that it’s clear you’re in a situation, I know what I’m talking about. I don’t know if you did something to get there or you’re just collateral damage for some rich piece of shit, but I can help you.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not anything you need to worry about. I’m fine.” She downs the rest of her martini and reaches for her purse but before she can slide out of the booth, I stretch my leg out and block her.

“You’re not and I’m not letting you leave her until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Harvey.” She says my name in a way that sends a completely different signal to my brain. “I appreciate this, but we don’t know each other. We have friends in common and you’re nice, but I’m not in any trouble. My boss is just—he just overstepped a boundary is all.”

Maybe it’s the liquor on an empty stomach but the flush from her cheeks travels down her neck to her exposed collarbones. Her eyes seem a touch glassy and a smile has settled over her lips.

“Overstepped a boundary how?” I motion for the waitress to bring us another round.

“He—it was nothing. We just kissed once and I think I gave him the wrong impression.”

I smile at the waitress, but my chest is burning. I can only imagine how a man like him overstepped a boundary.

“I didn’t picture you as a martini guy.” She nods toward my glass, taking a drink from her fresh martini.

“No? Why not?” I lift the glass and savor the bitterness.

“Look at you.” She giggles, the alcohol taking over. “You’re—you know.”

“I’m what?” I bait her, selfishly wanting this to turn flirty, but that’s not what tonight is about. I know plying her with alcohol is a cheap shot, but it’s the only way I know I’ll be able to get any ounce of truth from her about this guy. “Look too much like Jason Momoa to enjoy a martini?”

“Scary,” she blurts out, then clamps her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, not in a mean way.”

“You’re scared of me?” I narrow my gaze on her.

“Maybe.” She sips her drink. “A little, yes.”

“Why?” She shrugs. “Really, you’re not going to tell me why you’re scared of me? Did I do something?”

“No, nothing in particular. You’re just big and”—she looks at my exposed arms that are resting on the table, her voice trailing off a little—“the tattoos.”

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