Page 22 of Never Always
He watches me closely. “Even if I wasn’t the estranged stepchild at the Teams, it’s not like I can call a police station and ask for case files. It doesn’t work like that.” Grange sees the disappointment. I want information. I need all of it. Understanding is my superpower. “If they asked us for help in some way, which doesn’t happen often, we might get more information.”
“You do know things,” I sling back, brain twitching with the urge to ask about Area 51and the Cold War.
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” Dreams squashed in six words.
I throw up my hands. “Useless! What’s the point of having those aureate uniforms and accomplished showmanship if you can’t use it for practical things. Like real life.”
Narrowing his eyes, he heads to the sink and begins scrubbing his hands with a brush that looks like it belongs by a grill. “Slow down, Fire. For someone who wasn’t bothered by the act of women disappearing, you’re pretty riled up about their bodies being found. They’re kind of one in the same.”
“Maybe I thought they wanted to disappear. My mind didn’t automatically go to the worst possible scenario.” It’s a half lie. “It’s worse than I imagined.”
“And knowing what position she was in when she took her last breath will help you how?” Grange wipes his hands on the industrial paper towel he pulled off the roll. “You’ll sleep better knowing if she suffered a little or a lot?”
The sea lion surfaces and barks. I put my hand against the glass and repress a shudder. “You’re right.”
“Wait, what did you say?” Grange moves toward me, his shoes squeaking on the cement.
Groaning, I repeat myself and then say, “I smell you. Fish face. That’s what I said.”
“Did Dr. Kline just admit that I was right? What does that mean for the rest of the world?” I feel his breath against the back of my neck, a warm assault on my self-control. “Say it again,” he growls.
Instead of rolling over, I admit, “I don’t want nightmares and the news report was enough to do that, so what you said was true. Knowing those things would only make the scenario feel… creepier. It makes it personal.”
Grange grabs my shoulder, a light touch. “At least you know you’ll be safe tonight. At dinner. With me. Monsters can’t get you when I’m near.”
“Yeah, because monster senses monster.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Not so fast, I do very bad things very well. There’s a difference. Every person on this planet is somewhere between a hero and a monster,” Grange says, voice holding authority. He mimics my annoyed expression. “You’re probably not that monster’s type anyway.”
Holding his gaze, I don’t blink. Neither does he. My eyes water. He smirks. “I’m awful? Is that what you were going to say next?” He cocks his blond head to one side.
When I can’t hold out another second, I blink and let out a string of cuss words at the same time.
He grins and turns back to talk to the sea lion.
Chapter Eight
Tennyson
GRANGE WAS Aperfect gentleman at dinner. He wore a shirt with a collar and spoke with precision control. He didn’t offend me purposefully once. In other words, I almost didn’t recognize him. It was a seafood restaurant on the water, close to work, ironically. I still eat seafood even though I know every microorganism that might be hiding inside the oysters and raw tuna. Grange humored me while I explained the nutrient to bacteria ratio, and I listened intently as he described the process of becoming a SEAL.
It was surprising to hear about the attrition rate—how many men don’t hack it, or their bodies can’t handle the strain. If I were home, I’d want my computer to analyze the data. Is there a correlation between those who make it through BUD/s and SEAL qualification training? Is it blind luck, muscle composition, home life, or your mental status of that day? Grange humors me, answering all of my questions. Well, almost all of them. He clammed up when I asked about the scariest mission he’s ever gone on. To frighten a man like Corrick Granger must be a task, and like the serial killer, it’s something I probably don’t want or need to know.
We’re sitting in his truck, in my parking garage. He drove us the short distance to the restaurant because he deemed that aproper date.“Listen, Tennyson,” Grange says when I reach for the door handle. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“It was just dinner, Corrick. Don’t worry. I won’t be calling my parents to tell them you’re the one.” This is the easy way to give him the out I’m sure he’s searching for. It wasn’t what he expected and the chemistry wasn’t there on his side.
He disarms me with his huge half smile. “That’s not where I was going. Glad to know you didn’t think much of tonight though. That bad, huh?”
I widen my eyes in shock. Maybe I’m wrong. “That’s not what I meant.”
He sighs. “I know.”
“Good. So, what was it that you have to tell me.” Leaning my head to the side, I pull on my ear.
“I don’t want you to go on a date with Grey.” He holds up a finger when he sees my irritated expression. “I don’t want you to date anyone else.” Grange clears his throat. “Because I want to date you. Exclusively.”
This isn’t what I imagined for our goodbye tonight. I’d be angry at something inappropriate he said, and he’d be annoyed. Opening my mouth to speak, I close it again when I realize I don’t know how to respond.
