Page 70 of Golden Eagle

His expression closed off, like a door slamming: jaw clenched, lips compressed, eyes black under the tube lights. “Haven’t had the chance.” He glanced away from her, hand tightening on the ball until it squished down to nothing.

“The–” she caught herself beforevampscould slip out. “Guys who messed up your face. You think we ought to find them?”

“Why?” A humorless smile appeared. “So they can kick my ass again?”

“How many were there again? Two?”

Her tone brought his head around, his gaze narrowing. Too late she realized she’d slid into her interrogation voice; that benign, half-cool, half-friendly voice that promised she was on someone’s side, definitely, only curious.

At another time, the realization would have disturbed her; that wasn’t a voice you used on your lover. But right now, she leaned into it.

“Four,” he said, without inflection, unblinking.

“I thought it was three.”

He spun his chair so he faced her fully, and leaned forward to put his elbows on the desk. “Okay. So it was three.” He bristled with aggression, challenging her.

And she was done avoiding conflict. “What does ‘aftershave’ mean?”

His brows drew together, a muscle ticked in his jaw, and she was looking at Lanny the fighter, and not Lanny the cop.

Fighting, she thought, and it clicked into place in her mind, then.

“You went through my phone?” he asked, deadly quiet.

“The text came in while I was sitting there. I saw it.”

“You really gonna do this?”

“I’m–”

Harper shuffled past, hangdog tired, a cup of coffee in each hand.

Trina let out a slow breath that did nothing to abate her anger. This had been building for weeks – Lanny had been acting weird for weeks – and she wasn’t going to let it fester anymore. “You didn’t get mugged,” she said, just a whisper, when Harper was past. “You were the strongest guy I ever met as a human, and now you’re a vampire, and you’re gonna tell me you can get jumped? That you didn’t think to protect your face? No. Those bruises? You got hit boxing.”

His eyes widened, so fast she would have laughed at another time. For half a heartbeat, he looked absolutely stupid with panic. Then he doubled down on his scowl.

Gotcha, she thought, without any sense of victory.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake–” he started. Put his hands on the desk, pushed back. Looked at her from beneath half-lowered lids. Considering. He was debating something, and that surprised her. He finally said, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Wow.Wow. I know you suck at romance, butreally?”

“I suck at – what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

I love you more than you love me. The thought popped, unbidden, into her mind, and once there, she found she couldn’t easily shove it aside. Even worse, it felt very, very true.

If he hadn’t been dying, if he hadn’t been out of time and options, and if he then hadn’t been turned…would he have ever kissed her? Would they even be together, risking their careers? Or would he have kept meeting women in bars, and–

She cut off the mental image that conjured. Shut her eyes, and took a sequence of deep breaths. What was happening to her? Why was she so insecure?

She could envision her mother’s face, the way she would cluck, and put an arm around her shoulders, and say, “Oh, honey, don’t let anyone bring you down like this.”

When she opened her eyes, Lanny’s indignant glare had melted into an expression of confusion edged with panic. She took a tight hold on her emotions – imagined them as tangible things, writhing snakes, that she could squeeze between her fingers until it was hard to breathe – and composed herself. It was a mental effort, and a physical one.

She said, voice as cold as she could make it, “Clearly, you’re engaging in something you don’t want to tell me about. Fine. I’m not controlling. You can have your secrets.” She stood up. “I need to take a walk.”

She was halfway down the stairs, boot soles loud against the old hardwood treads, when he caught up with her.

---