Page 32 of My Vigilante Valentine

“They won’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Humor me.”

“If things go sideways—which they won’t—I don’t need you in the middle of things when my knives come out. It’s not safe.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Was that supposed to make sideways soundlessfun? Because if so, fail.”

I ignored that. “What Idoneed is someone with an eye for detail. Someone who notices things most people don’t. That’s you, from what I’ve seen, and that could come in handy for surveillance.”

Her face lit up like I’d handed her a trophy. “High praise. Kinda like you noticed that Chris was my cousin and not someone you had to be jealous of?”

“Hilarious,” I deadpanned.

“I’m kidding. Sort of. Thank you for the compliment.”

“It was a fact. You’re observant.”

“Fact, then. I won’t let you down.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, realizing with dawning horror that I’d likely made a huge mistake. “You’re gonna drive me nuts tonight, aren’t you?”

“Not intentionally,” she said cheerfully. “But with you…”

Yeah. Definitely a mistake.

“Come on,” I said, jerking my chin down the dark alley where I’d parked.

The street was quiet now that most of the small businesses had closed up for the night, and Slate Harbor’s nightlife scene was a few blocks away.

Luna had to jog to keep up with my much longer strides, so I slowed my pace. We weren’t exactly in a rush.

“Where’s the rest of your costume?” she asked in a whisper-shout as we fell into step.

I slid her a quick look.

“Uniform?” she tried again, undeterred—as usual—by my silence.

I wrinkled my nose.

“What do you call it?”

She was like a dog with a bone, and unable to help myself, I let out a short laugh. “They’re clothes. I don’t callitanything. I just put my clothes on.”

“Right, but it’s a very specificsetof clothes. From your hood to your boots, I know for a fact you only wear those clothes when you’re fighting crime. That feels like a uniform.”

Her logic was annoyingly sound, but I hadn’t worn a uniform in years, and the thought made me twitchy.

Tonight, even while sticking to the shadows like I usually did, I’d chosen to wear my hoodie—hood down, for now—utility pants and boots. My back scabbard and the jacket where I stored my blades weren’t exactly necessary just to walk her to my truck from the shop.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t be necessary for our stakeout tonight, either.

“Ah, wait, I get it,” she said.

“What?”

“You don’t call it anything because you don’t talk about it with anyone.”

She had a point. It wasn’t like I told my reflection in the mirror to “suit up!” when it was time to take down a lowlife in my hood.

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