Page 44 of Never Been Gargoyled
“You don't have to thank me for that.”
“Yes, I do. You could have told me to leave. Could have insisted on handling everything yourself. But you let me stay. You let me be useful.”
The vulnerability in his voice made my throat close off. “You're more than useful, Feydin. You're…”
I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. What was he to me? Friend seemed inadequate. Something more than friend felt too presumptuous.
“I'm what?” he asked softly.
“Important,” I said finally. “You're important tome.”
His arms tightened around me again, and I felt some of the tension leave his body.
“You're important to me too,” he said. “More important than you know.”
We stayed on the roof until the sun was high overhead, and my stomach started rumbling loudly enough that Feydin chuckled.
“I should feed you,” he said, helping me to my feet.
“That sounds perfect.” I looked down at his ruined suit. “But first, you need to change those clothes. I'm not letting you inside my kitchen wearing a dirt-covered tuxedo.”
“It's not a tuxedo.”
“Whatever it is, it's too nice to be making pancakes in.”
He smiled, and the sight of it made my heart skip a few beats. “Pancakes sound good.”
“Then that’s what I’ll make.” I grinned back at him. “Race you to the kitchen?”
“Have you suddenly sprouted wings?”
“I’m working on it.” I could only imagine how wonderful that would be.
“Until then, allow me to be your transportation.” He scooped me up and soared gracefully down to the ground, landing lightly. It seemed he held me a long time before he placed me on my feet, but maybe it felt that way because I wanted to stay in his arms.
When he finally put me down, I stepped back and shook my finger at him, trying to sound stern. “Now go change before I decide to hose you down myself.”
“As you wish, lovely Dazy.”
Chapter 17
Feydin
After breakfast, Dazy and I settled in to do some research. She took her laptop to the dining room table while I spread Rebecca's documents out on the surface across from her, studying each one with the methodical attention I'd learned in law school.
The birth certificate looked legitimate. The paper had the right texture, the seal appeared authentic, and the information matched what Rebecca had told us. Helga Margaret Morrison, mother. Father unknown. Date and location of birth consistent with what we'd found online.
I photographed each document and sent them to three different lawyers I knew, asking for their opinions on authenticity. Within an hour, I had replies from two of them. Both confirmed what I'd suspected: the documents appeared genuine.
“Find anything interesting?” Dazy asked, returning from the kitchen with two glasses of water.
“Unfortunately, her story checks out so far. What about you?”
“She's definitely real. Marketing consultant, lives in the city, went to business school at a state college. There are photos of her at various charity events over the past five years.”
I frowned at the adoption papers in front of me. Everything was in order. Too much in order, perhaps. But that didn't necessarily mean anything suspicious.
“I'm going to make some calls,” I said, pulling out my phone.
