Page 40 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Then Dimitri will be an even bigger surprise,” Wes replies mildly and I want to throttle him because I’m pretty sure he meant it as a pun. I mean, there’s a reason we call him Big D. “May I take your coat?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to stop her, but she’s already handing him her things, completely blithe, and leveling a look my way that is adorable, if accusatory. “Two roommates?”

It would take a practiced eye—or knowing him as well as I do—to see Wes pocket her phone as he makes a show of folding the corners of her jacket on a hanger, fluffing it, and placing the hanger delicately in the closet.

“Wonderful to meet you, Eleanor,” he says, striding towards one of the studies on this floor where I know he’s made his little cave.

“You, too… wait, did I tell him my name?” she asks, half to me and half to herself.

I curse inwardly. No, she didn’t. Which means that he already knows about her. Which means he probably has known about her since Thursday, when I not-so-successfully threw him off the trail. Fucking Wesley.

I leave her bag at the bottom of the stairs and usher her directly into the kitchen, partly because it’s where I normally head when I walk through the door and partly because it’s a good neutral spot to leave her while I eat crow and clean up my own mess. Her head bounces around, side to side, trying to take in the grandeur all at once. When we enter the kitchen, she stops dead, eyes locked on the high-end appliances.

“Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

She hesitates and I see the inner struggle flitting across her expressive face. “Do you have anything stronger? I did help you hide a body today.”

“Um, I’ve got some beer and Wesley keeps bottles of champagne—”

“Stronger?”

“Dimitri’s got some sort of small batch, homemade potatovodka.”

She blows out a breath and turns watery blue eyes on me. “Think he’d share?” her voice is thin and she sniffles after she asks the question.

I balk. I didn’t realize how close she was to breaking down. Those damn hackles raise again and I’m an instant away from declaring how I’ll make sure she gets whatever she wants, whenever she wants. “Yeah. Sit over there, let me get you a glass.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, all but collapsing into the chair that sits at the head of the huge table.

I pull a lowball glass from the cabinet and Dimitri’s unmarked swing-top bottle out of the freezer. I bring her both, set them down on the table near her and crouch in front of her. If she were shorter, we’d be at eye level. But she’s not, so I have to tilt my head up a bit.

“James,” comes the deep, accented voice. “Come. Now.”

I glance up and Eleanor twists in her seat to see Dimitri’s massive form filling the doorway. She goes rigid and gasps.

Yeah, his size and mean, scarred face have that effect on people.

“I’ve got to go have a chat with my… roommates. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”

Her eyes cut to me. “Will I?”

I tense. Her tone is part challenge, and as much as that fucking stirs my blood, it’s also part question. “Eleanor—”

“Just go. I’m… I’ll be fine.” With grim resolve and shaking hands, she reaches for the bottle of vodka. She pours a finger, pauses, and pours a second.

Okay, yeah, I’ll give her that one, but if she thinks she can get drunk and close me out, she’ll be learning her lesson when I get back. I’ve noticed she responds well to a firm hand, coupled with a reminder of our sexual chemistry, so I indulge. I stand, then lean in to invade her space. When she shifts away, I place a hand on each arm of her chair and corner her against the back of it.

“Be a good girl for me and stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Since she has nowhere to further back away, she can’t escape the quick kiss to her cheek.

As I stride out of the kitchen, I throw a look over my shoulder and see her gulp down at least a shot’s worth of vodka.

Wes repurposed the formal study into a symphony of electronic whirring and humming computer fans. The mahogany desk in the center of the room boasts several huge monitors and enough computing juice to keep him flush in bitcoin, if he cared to mine for it. He told me once it was boring.

He’s sitting at his desk and Dimitri walks over to stand behind him, arms folded. It’s like being sent to the principal’s office for fighting all over again. They both look up when I close the door behind me, but Wes is first to speak.

“What the hell are you doing here with Eleanor Wilson, 1226 Second Ave, Apartment 3B, 28 years old, blue eyes, 5 foot 9, line cook at Bistro Jacques, account balance of $407?”

---