Page 70 of Skeletons in the Closet

I tightened my fist, still confused.

“There you go. Do that over and over, and maybe you’ll feel less inclined to put your fist through Sean Rowell’s face tonight.”

“Huh?”

“Sean Rowell. Beth’s husband. Remember him? The man with a penchant for putting his hands on his wife. Keep up, cuddle bear. I think it’s time we do a little sneaky-peeky into Mr. Domestic Violence himself, don’t you?”

“Sneaky what?”

Tallus chuckled. “Get your coat. It’s chilly.”

“It’s June. It’s too warm for a coat.”

“Not by the lake after sundown, it isn’t, and dear old Sean is attending a candlelight vigil for his wife tonight at the harbor front.”

I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Olivia posted it on her Facebook page. What have you been doing all day? This isyourcase, and I shouldn’t be a leg ahead of you. I figured we might want to be there since it could bring in people who were close to Beth, including her killer—if she didn’t kill herself. The elusive bastard might show up, and we still don’t know anything about him. Plus, we can monitor Sean. He’s topof my suspect list. This has gone far beyond an affair. Something weird is going on, and I want to know what. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“We aren’t partners.”

“No, but you need me. Admit it. You’re kind of a floundering wreck otherwise.”

“I work alone.”

“Not anymore you don’t. Besides, I’m a people person. In this line of work, you need at least some social skills. Coat, D, or you’ll be cold.”

Reluctantly, I found my coat and fedora, hanging the former over my arm and sticking the latter on my head, casting a dark shadow across my face.

“You’re strange,” Tallus said, scanning me top to toe.

“I know. Go.”

Chuckling, Tallus aimed for the door and headed into the hallway. “PS. I think Kitty knows we’re fucking.”

I tripped over my feet and cursed when I bumped into the door frame.

When Tallus glanced back, humor shining in his eyes, I growled, “Stop fucking talking.”

His laughter followed him down the hallway.

***

Tallus insisted we stop at a drive-through for food since he was hungry. Then he insisted I pay for his meal since he deserved compensation for free labor. I submitted without argument, unable to voice anything resembling an objection, still stumbling to keep up with this man who was taking over my life.

When Tallus requested I detour to a coffee shop so he could get a latte to go with his meal, I went, ordering him a peanut butter cookie to go with it.

He smirked when I handed him the paper cup and brown treat bag.

“Dessert,” I mumbled.

“You really are a cuddle bear.”

I frowned and pulled back onto the road. “Don’t call me that.”

“Kitty started it, and I don’t think you hate it.”

Tallus was a wrecking ball. His presence leveled any attempt I made at organized thought. He made me tongue-tied and stupid, which meant I growled a lot under my breath, earning more teasing. My sheer lack of control in Tallus’s presence astounded me, yet I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t tell him no or shove him off—or if I did, I couldn’t make it stick.

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