Page 71 of For Dear Life

Rowan finally stands, and my jaw almost slams to the floor as he turns. Is Rowan actually eating a cookie? I’d expect this behavior from Leif, but honestly, they’re not even nice cookies. Not a tempting chocolate chip in site.

“What’s happening? Did the shifters see you?” he asks.

“The witch from the hospital is outside,” I hiss and slap the cookie from Rowan’s hand. “And good grief, Rowan. A cookie?”

Panic finally crosses his face, and he pursues me as I rush towards the front of the house, then yank open the front door.

“I hope that magic worked on Elizabeth or we’ve a serious problem with our investigation.” The door closes behind with a thud as I continue to hurry away. Rowan catches up and I slice him a look.“Don’t expect any sympathy from me if you just ate a cookie laced with an unpleasant substance.”

24

GRAYSON

Why am I not surprised that Josef chooses to ‘catch up’ with me while he’s in town? And why am I also not surprised when that catch up isn’t a casual lunch but a visit to a familiar place?

The outside of the old cottage looks no better in daylight, weeds struggling through what was once a pathway to the door, and the gardens overgrown by dandelions and grasses, the yellow almost adding a prettiness to the surroundings. Brambles invade the rose bushes and although a handful of white ones managed to grow, they’re almost obliterated.

I spent way too much time here when Josef locked me away from the world, which means I’m suspicious when he doesn’t drag me into the house and the lock the doors behind us. Josef’s buddies aren’t with him, and we pause in the untended gardens rather than enter, but I remain suspicious.

“Lovely afternoon for sitting outside, don’t you think?” he asks. “Imagine never being able to do this like your poor parents and those before.”

Josef brushes dirt from a faded wooden bench and sits. I hate him. I hate his make-believe nice guy, all sharp suits and flashy smiles; the man who uses his mental abilities to further burrow himself into human society. I fucking hate what he does to me, but most of all, I hate that I look like Josef Petrescu.

“Expensive suit,” I say and nod at him.

“The unfortunate trappings of my job.” He smiles. “How are you, Grayson?”

“Better than I presume I’ll be at the end of this conversation.” I remain standing at a cautious distance, hands in pockets.

“How’s Ms. Blackwood?” he asks, and cold trickles along my spine when he doesn’t confirm or deny that he’ll injure me. “Are her investigations progressing well?”

“I’m not involved. The witch she hangs out with doesn’t like me.” Josef slants his head and I summon images of Rowan’s dislike the same way I showed Rowan images of Josef’s abuse. Not a total lie, even if we’re friendlier now.

“Then you need to get that person out of the way.” Josef examines his manicured fingernails and pulls a face. “Witches. They’re causing me a lot of trouble. Or rather, trouble for my client.”

“Sawyer?” He knows about Maxwell. “Why?”

“I warned him not to become involved, but witches are clever bastards—no complex magic needed if they’re playing on a man’s ego. You can help fix the problem, Grayson.”

“How?”

He smiles in that way I know means danger’s coming. “Witches are blackmailing my client. They’ve threatened his son.”

I reel as he swipes aside one of Violet’s theories, specifically the one I’d hoped would get this man out of my life. “You’re not working with witches against Violet?”

“Grayson, please,” he says in disgust. “You know I never work with witches. You still haven’t told me—how is Ms. Blackwood’s investigation progressing? Proved her ‘innocence’ yet?”

I rub my cheek. “Violet hasn’t killed anybody.”

“Shame. But I’m sure that situation will change now she’s become unhinged.” Josef flashes his teeth. “Grayson. I’m Sawyer’s attorney and know everything that occurred at Kai’s little soiree. Violet sounds rather volatile, and a reliable witness told me she took great interest in your blood.”

“Violet never touched my blood, and neither did I touch hers.”

I never expected this development, as convinced as Violet that the murders were partially connected to the Petrescus. The moment I discovered Sawyer worked with witches and my uncle; the picture seemed clearer. Now everything’s muddied. Unless Josef’s lying.

I hold my ground when Josef rises and slowly walks over, as he does when he likes to hear my pulse beat harder. “But you bring out the worst in Violet, correct?”

“Violet isn’t exactly like her father. She controls herself. Violet hasn’t and wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

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