Page 33 of A Shot in the Dark
Every muscle in him goes rigid. “That’s…not great. Maybe the bond’s lowered my defenses.”
“Can it do that?”
“I don’t know everything it does. My kind… We don’t get to know much about things that are normally outside our established duties. I’ve never tested the bond before.”
“Oh.”
He sweeps my “oh” away like it’s nothing. “It’s taught as a last-ditch method of protecting someone.”
“It’s not a special forces thing then, is it?”
He barks out a laugh. “Most definitely not.”
“What is it then?”
“Magic.”
“Tsk,” I scold. “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“I’m—”
I stand and he joins me. “Your phone’s ringing.”
He casts it a sidelong glance. His lip curls in a snarl when he sees the caller ID. “Fucker,” he mutters, hitting Decline Call.
“Tell me about it.”
His eyes narrow obstinately. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Niiice.” I stand up, throw out the trash and announce “I’m taking a shower.”
He grunts and glares at his phone again.
I shouldn’t push—I’m not answering any of the calls or texts coming to me either. Part of it’s because I’m following Officer Newbuck’s instructions, and part because my mind is focused on other things.
Like Boots.
Besides, almost all of my messages are from Laryssa and what would I even say to her?
“Hey, girl, I’m on this crazy roadtrip with this stranger I’m fucking who won’t even tell me his name, but he’s so hot sometimes I forget! Hope you’re gettin’ some! Kisses!”
“Hey, slut, sorry I haven’t gotten back to you for a while—been losing my mind between the sheets and everywhere else to the winner of the Red Flag Award… Hope you’re having fun! Kisses!
“Hey, bitch, no I haven’t seen the new projected colors for fall fashion—too busy banging things out with a sexy chauffeur who may or may not kill me. At least he’s ‘grown used to me’—yes, like an old pair of shoes! Sexy! Kisses!”
I have no words for her—not yet. I can barely explain my situation to myself.
It’s as I’m standing in front of the mostly steam-covered mirror, wrapped in a towel after my shower’s concluded, that heappears in the reflection, startling me. “I didn’t hear you come in. Hey! What are you wearing?”
“Clothes,” he grumbles, looking down at the flannel and khakis. “I went out to the car—my suits… I needed a change.”
“It’s just…so different.”
“Do you like it? Nevermind.” He sounds angry with himself. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I do,” I respond anyway. “But…flannel and khakis?”
“I don’t always wear a suit.” He glances away a moment. “I can be quite…normal,” he insists. “Used to drive a truck.”
