Page 29 of The Matchmaker

Eight

Wind howls through the forest across from my house. Lightning illuminates the sky, followed by the sound of a thunderclap. As soon as I’d glimpsed the note, I ran back to my car and hit the accelerator all the way home. But even now, safe inside my house, Gertie circling my legs, I don’t feel much better.

“Is Borzu coming?” asks Azar. I’d called him from the car, and he arrived just after me.

“He’s ten minutes away.”

“What about Genevieve?” He moves to the window, parts the sheer white curtains, and gazes out at my driveway.

“I’m guessing she’s flying above the Colorado Rockies right now. She’s attending a family reunion in Utah.”

“I forget some of your team members have lives outside of this agency.” Azar sits down on the couch next to me. I’d told him he didn’t need to come over—what could he do in this situation? But as the wind howls and the streetlights flicker, I’m grateful he’s here.

We study the note on the coffee table, as though looking at it long enough will reveal some sort of clue. But there’s nothing to be gleaned from bleeding marker pressed against paper.

Thunder rumbles, rattling the windows. “I should tell Borzu to turn back. It’s getting worse out there.”

“You really don’t want to call the police about this? This is serious stalker shit, Nur. What if it’s…” His voice trails off.

The podcaster.I know what he’s thinking. But what good will reporting this note do? The police barely blinked when Kaden Sineway lit fireworks in the agency parking lot to express his displeasure with us. They won’t care about this. We’ll handle it on our own.

Raindrops pelt harder against the skylights above. Thunder sounds, crackling like popcorn. Gertie yowls and leaps into my lap, burrowing her head into the crook of my arm.

“Silly girl, I won’t let the storm get you.” I scratch her behind her ears. I wish my own worries were as simple as Gertie’s.

Azar leans down and studies the note on the coffee table again. I take in his profile. He’s in a salmon polo shirt. Stone-washed jeans.

Oh no.

“Azar. Were you on a date?”

He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“Youwereon a date.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. His face is clean-shaven; his hair has an undeniable hint of gel. “Those are your out-on-the-town jeans. Admit it. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just find out on her Instagram later.”

“Keeping tabs on me, Nur?”

“Hi, have we met?”

“It wasn’t anything big.Les Misis in town. She’s already seen it a couple of times.”

I blink. “Let me get this right. You were watching amusical?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, other than you’ve said you’d rather eat squid than watch a musical. And you’re deathly allergic to squid.”

“What can I say? Things change, Nur.”

Yeah,I think.I guess they do.

“Is it serious between you?” I ask, shooting for casual. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” His forehead crinkles. “It hasn’t even been that long.”

“A few weeks is plenty. A lifetime in Azar years.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It just felt like it was time,” he says. “You have to get on with the next part of your life at some point, right?”

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