Page 47 of Graveyard Dog

Her heart fell, despite the fact that her chest had tightened around it. She reached over, placed a hand on his ridiculously handsome face, and turned him back to her. “The fact that I trust you is why I wanted to deal with my stepfather alone.”

“That makes zero sense.”

“I left Emma with you, knowing she would be looked after. Knowing she would be safe.”

“Still a stretch, Killer.”

She laughed softly and gazed into the cerulean depths of his irises. The color was too clear, too bright, sparkling in the setting sun. He had shown up out of nowhere, so unexpectedly, and in less than twenty-four hours, he’d shown her the definition of noble and gracious and kind. He’d shown her…

She paused, her jaw going slack as she shook out of her thoughts and gaped at him. “It’s Stockholm Syndrome.” She covered her mouth with a hand and spoke through her fingers, her words muffled. “I have Stockholm Syndrome.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

“No, I do.” She inched away from him, suddenly wary. “That’s why I feel all warm and gooey around you.”

“You feel warm and gooey around me?”

“That’s why I trust a man I barely know.”

“How gooey?”

“It’s a syndrome.”

“And where exactly is this goo located?”

“A sickness.” She pointed at him, her index finger accusing him of everything from shoplifting to genocide. “You just keep your distance, Bucko.”

“Bucko?” he asked as she slid out of the vehicle without taking her eyes off him. “What happened to the goo?”

Chapter Ten

I don’t always make the wrong decision, but when I do,

it’s the wrongiest wrong of all the wrongs that ever wronged.

—Meme

Not many things in Michael’s life were certain, but he knew without a doubt that no one had ever called himBucko.

“I guess we’ll get going,” Donovan said as they stood in Izzy’s living room. She had run straight to Emma when they entered, leaving Michael in a cloud of dust. Metaphorically.

“Really? Okay, then.” Michael nudged his friend toward the door. It had been a long day, and Michael still had several pertinent questions for Izzabel Walsh. And even a few for himself.

They got to the door before Donovan remembered his better half.

“I’m coming,” Doc said, zipping her medical kit closed as she exited Emma’s room. As a result, he and Donny were stuck at the door in an awkward kind of no man’s land between in and out.

Donovan tilted his head to examine the side of Michael’s. “She do that?”

“Yes.”

“I like her.”

Michael looked at the doc. “I like her, too.” When Donovan glared, he added, “Not that much.”

“You’ll have your hands full, anyway.” He gestured toward Izzy with a nod as she followed the doc out.

But Izzy stopped and leaned against the sofa, apparently not wanting to get close to Michael. What with the syndrome and all…

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