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“No,” he answered, puncturing all my hopes like a balloon being pressed against a knife. “I don’t, I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine,” I said. I shouldn’t have expected much. This entire job was becoming much more difficult than it needed to be. “I shouldn’t have even asked. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have even come here.” I began to feel stupid. I wasn’t cut out for this shit. I took this career shift into detective work as a way to find some purpose, something I’d been searching for most of my life, but what if my purpose was somewhere else? What if I was meant to be a failure, living under a bridge somewhere munching on moldy bread I picked up from the trash.
“I’m going to leave. Sorry for bothering you.”
“Whoa, whoa, that’s it? You’re leaving just like that?”
“What, do you want a show? Some glitter and fireworks while I disappear with a trap door? I’m a Marvel, not a child’s party performer.”
His bushy brows inched together. The guy was confused, which seemed to be a default state for him. “You’re not going to ask more questions or something?”
“Nope.” I started to walk around him, but Maddox took a step to the side, blocking the doorway with his wide frame, an arm up on the arching wall, his sleeve pulling back so that I could see some pit. His scent drifted in my direction: oaky but soft, hints of something like lavender and rose. I pulled my gaze back up to his, clear as a perfect summer’s day.
“Well, I want to ask questions, then. Why are you looking for the paintings?”
“So I can put something up behind my toilet. It’s such an empty wall.”
He gave a huff of a laugh. “You’re a funny one.”
“Thanks, I try not to be.” I ducked and tried to move under his arm, but he dropped it, his big bicep pushing into my face. His scent filled me, became almost intoxicating. I took a step back, starting to get annoyed.
Among other things.
“Are you holding me hostage? Again?” I asked.
“No, and I never had you hostage before. Just restrained.”
I rolled my eyes. “Cute, so you’re a wordsmith and a gaslighter. What am I getting myself into.”
“A whole lot, I can assure you that.” Maddox gave me a grin that sparked something inside me. Something which I quickly decided to snuff out. There was no time for weird feelings and odd sparks.
“Seriously, why are you looking for the paintings?”
I shook my head and relented to the burly ice dragon. “I work for a detective agency, and my client wants those three paintings, so I’m looking for them. There, happy? Now, why do you want them?”
“I didn’t think this was a ‘show me yours, and I’ll show you mine’ situation.”
“I haven’t seen anything of yours,” I said, my gaze dropping for the briefest second down to his crotch.
“All you had to do was ask.” Without a second thought, he pulled down his zipper and was seconds from pulling down his jeans before I told him to stop. Although with how heavy the crotch of his jeans looked, I briefly wondered if I should have let him keep going.
“I’m looking for the paintings for a friend,” Maddox said, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Which has me thinking?—”
“Oh, you can do that?”
“Ha. Ha. Anyway, since we’re both looking for the paintings, and neither of us seem to be unhinged cultists, why don’t we work together? Two minds are almost always better than one.”
It was an interesting proposition. I had to admit that this job was beginning to feel more and more out of my league with each new development, every new roadblock I hit up against. And there was so much riding on it. I needed the money—desperately. And not just because I didn’t want to live with my shitty-ass roommate in a sketchy part of town or because I wanted to upgrade my 2006 Honda Civic that still ran on gasoline.
More than any of that, I needed the money to pay off the debt that loomed over my head. A debt I couldn’t even think about right now.
And still, I just couldn’t really trust this man. He did try to kill me once already, and he could end up being in on this for himself. It would complicate the issue even more than it already was.
“No,” I said firmly. “That’s okay. I appreciate the gesture, but no.”
His arm dropped from the doorframe, and I pushed past him, deciding that I’d do this on my own and I’d leave this handsome-as-fuck ice dragon out of it.
Chapter 7
It’s Just Paint
Maddox
Caleb’s answer didn’t surprise me. He seemed like a standoffish kind of guy. Someone who liked to work alone instead of on a team. That was fine. I didn’t necessarily need the help, especially considering I already had two of the paintings. Which… why did I feel bad about lying to him? Yes, he had gentle eyes, and yes, he had a friendly smile on the few occasions he’d flash it, and yes, I did fantasize about what he’d feel like naked and underneath me, but did that mean I had to feel bad about telling him a white lie?
