Page 4 of Grave Games

“Like that’s going to help,” I muttered before Dubya could open his mouth. “That dude’s long gone, if Romeo didn’t kill him.”

“I already called the police, since that’s the protocol set up by the owners—all criminal incidents on-property must be reported to law enforcement.” To no one’s surprise, Dubya was able to quote Buzzby’s bylaw from memory, reminding me more than ever of Napoleon Dynamite with his pedantic mannerisms, frizzy hair, thick glasses and ever-present overbite. “Since you’re not dead and the perpetrator wasn’t apprehended, the authorities have chosen to wait until the blizzard is over before sending anyone out to make a report.”

“Of course,” Heather muttered, checking the water’s temperature. “Lots of fancy words to tell us bupkis is gonna happen, and that we’re basically on our own. Thanks for the update, Dubya.”

“I don’t even know if the perpetrator was apprehended or not.” I tried again to get up, only to have Heather yank me back down with a mini splash.Damn it. “Whatever happened to Romeo? I thought he would be right behind me.”

“He came in for a second, then went back outside.” Dubya jerked a thumb over his shoulder without looking, his gaze focused instead on my submerged fingers. They were no longer an angry-looking puce, but rather a gentle sort of lavender-to-pinkish color. Since the warm water no longer burned like acid, I had a feeling I was going to live. “Seems to me he wanted to make sure the area was clear before you tried heading back out.”

“No chance of that, unless I can bunk down with one of you guys tonight,” I said, trying to keep the rising panic at bay as I began to see just how much trouble I was still in. “My car keys got dropped in the snow somewhere, and my apartment key is on that key ring. I could get my super to unlock my apartment for me, but since he’s usually in a Wild Turkey fog by this time of night, it’s kind of a long shot.”

“Didn’t you once tell me you have a brother?” Heather said, frowning at my fingertips. “Did you ever give him a key to your place? Or maybe a neighbor…?”

“No.” I kept my eyes down and prayed she wouldn’t ask any more questions, like why I didn’t trust my neighbors—or my own family—with a key to my place. I couldn’t begin to explain without tearing open wounds I half-believed would never heal, so keeping answers to a minimum was the only option left.

“Well,” Dubya sighed gustily, giving me the distinct impression the end of his patience was fast approaching, “you need to figure something out, Shiloh, because tomorrow morning that parking lot’s going to be plowed clear. All that snow is going to be piled up on the edges, growing as hard as concrete as it compacts, and your keys are going to be somewhere inside of all that mess. You’re not going to see them until spring.”

“Perfect.” Who knew that being a paranoid freak and not trusting anyone with a key would be a problem in the grand scheme of things? Silly me, I’d actually thought keeping everyone at a distance would be the safest thing I could do.

“Tell you what.” At last letting go of my hands, Heather grabbed up a nearby towel and dried off her fingers. “Dubya and I will take turns going out there sifting through the snow looking for your keys.”

Dubya did a semi pearl-clutch. “We will?”

“Of course we will.” Nodding staunchly, Heather stood up and reached for her coat slung over the back of her chair. “I’ll go first, while Dubya starts filling out incident reports and who-knows-what-all. The only thing I need from you, Shiloh, is a starting point. If you can tell me where you were when you dropped them, I’m sure we can find your keys for you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I got ‘em.” Appearing behind Dubya and standing a foot taller than the other man, Romeo held up a gloved hand. When I saw the familiar framed photo keyring hanging from his fingers, I couldn’t help but let out a relieved cry.

“You found them.” I was out of my chair, across the kitchen and ready to fling myself into his arms before I stopped myself. Holy crap. Holyfriggingcrap, what the hell was I doing? I didn’t touch people, especially men. Not now. I had to be more shaken up than I thought. “I… Sorry. Sorry.”

Romeo looked at me quizzically. “For what?”

“I can’t believe you found my keys,” I said, ignoring him. There was no way to explain how sorry I was that I had a random yearning for basic human contact—specifically withhim—so I didn’t even try. “How did you even know to look for them?”

“I didn’t. I just went out to make sure no one was hanging around and I stepped right on ‘em. Knew they had to be yours the moment I saw you in that picture with your family. Good-looking fam, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I wondered if everyone else felt the life bleed out of the world before I cleared my throat and held out my now-neon pink hand. “I mean it. Thank you for finding them, and thank you for coming to my rescue. In every way possible, you really came through for me tonight.”

“Damn, look at your hands.” Instead of handing over my keys like I’d expected him to, a look of alarm flashed across his face before he tucked my keys into his pocket, ripped off his gloves, which also landed in his jacket pockets, and grabbed my hands in both of his. His touch burned white hot, so much so I couldn’t stifle a gasping wince, and he quickly sandwiched both my hands in his. “What the hell are you doing out in the middle of a Chicago blizzard without any gloves on, lady?”

“It wasn’t blizzarding when I got here.”

“It was in the forecast.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. “Was it?”

“You’re from Chicago. It’s January. Everyone knows shit weather is going to happen.”

“I lost my gloves and I hate shopping, so long story short, no gloves.”

“You need a keeper.” He began rubbing his hands vigorously over mine, causing enough friction to start a forest fire. Any second now I fully expected to see smoke coming out from where our hands touched. “I swear, I look at you and I’m amazed that wind out there didn’t blow you away. Tomorrow I’m getting you gloves.”

Wait, what?“Romeo, thank you but no, you don’t—”

“You’ve been running around the city with naked hands,” Heather cut in, joining us in the open doorway. “Honestly, it’s getting embarrassing. Let the man get you some gloves, okay? You need them.”

For the first time in my life, I tried to murder someone with a glare. “It’s no big deal, Heather.”

“Exactly. No big deal. I mean, it’s just gloves, right? It’s not like it’s an engagement ring.” Heather laughed at her own joke, clearly enjoying it so much she didn’t notice that no one else laughed with her. “Just accept that this guy is hero material and let him do his thing, okay?”

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