Page 30 of Deep Feelings & Shallow Graves

I lean back, watching him squirm. Just a little. He deserves it. But something tightens in my chest anyway. Stupid heart. Wrong organ to be involved. Though as my nipples chime in, I think my organs might agree on their feelings about Mr. Wears His Uniform Like a Stripper Costume.

“It’s not serious yet,” I add, faux casual. “I’ve got a relationship to murder and I’m considering if I can get away with another. Really gorgeous. Handyman type. Strong arms. Puppy dog eyes. Type who’d move bodies for you without batting a pretty eyelash.”

His brow twitches. He licks pizza grease off his thumb. I nearly come apart. Is this a new interrogation technique?

I’m the one asking questions. “So what is it, Officer? Curiosity or craving? Because either way, you’ve been watching me like I’m evidence with an ass.”

He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Or maybe just a particularly scandalous third nipple. He shifts like the seat’s suddenly full of thumbtacks. “I’m not here to harass you,” he says. “I just…”

“Wanted to check on me?” I cut in, voice lower now. “Or make sure I wasn’t dumping another body in a drainage ditch?”

He looks at me. Really looks. Like he’s trying to decide if I’m a puzzle or a bomb. The look says he might be up for either.

“You looked happy with him,” he says finally.

It’s not an accusation. Not quite. More like a confession he didn’t mean to say out loud. My heart flickers again. Ugh. Gross. I stab it with sarcasm. “Oh?” I raise a brow. “You do surveillance and emotional commentary now?”

“I’m just saying,” he says, eyes fixed on the dashboard like it might rescue him. “It was... a different look for you.”

I smile, sharp but that throws me. He noticed my looks? “Was that before or after you started tailing me?”

His eyes flick away. Not denial. Not confirmation either.

“So… am I under surveillance, or are you just lonely?” I tip my head. “What exactly did you see?”

His throat works. “Enough.”

Shit. “To arrest me?” I ask. “Because I didn’t pack handcuffs. But if you’ve got zip ties and a grudge, I’m flexible.”

His eyes flick to mine. A cop’s poker face, but there’s heat beneath it, banked, dangerous and personal. “You think this is funny?” he asks.

“No,” I say, leaning in just enough to make his pulse jump. “I think you’re dying to touch me and don’t know if you’d be cuffing me to a bed or a holding cell.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Jesus, Jennifer.”

“I don’t need saving,” I add. “But if you’re here to see me… then see me. Don’t hide behind your badge like it makes you safe.”

He breathes out through his nose, sharp, like it hurts. “I am trying to keepyousafe.”

That’s so fucking unfair. “For who?” I ask, tilting my head. “From what? The men I kill, or the ones who deserve it?”

“From all of it,” he says. “From what happens if it’s anyone but me watching you.”

His words hit somewhere soft. And for a second, just a sliver, my armor cracks. “I don’t need you to fix me, Officer.” My voicedoesn’t shake, but it’s a near thing. “Pick a side, Carson. Partner or obstacle. Because I don’t brake for either.”

Can I do what I need to if he is in the way? Edgar would help.

He exhales like I knocked the air out of him. Then slowly he sets his pizza down and picks up a Zebra Cake. He unwraps it and takes a bite.

I stare. “Is that… a yes?”

“I won’t let you get hurt. Not by the men you date, or the men I work with,” he says through a mouthful of frosting. “These are… good.”

I laugh. Can’t help it. It bursts out sharp and delighted, a release of breath I did know I was holding (because if you hold your breath, you know that shit).

Carson watches me like I’m fire and he’s already been burned.

“I have to go,” he says, licking his thumb again. That thumb again. Rude. “I shouldn’t have followed you so openly. And I can’t be here. Not like this.”

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