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"I need to discuss this with you, Hope, but it can wait until morning. Go back to your...friend."
I thought of returning to Jaz, but the evening's high had evaporated, and I wouldn't find it again.
"No, let's get this over with," I said.
I TEXT MESSAGED Jaz, saying I was in trouble with my parents and had to get back to my apartment. He wouldn't be happy, but I'd deal with that tomorrow...after I'd handled this and sent Karl on a fast plane home.
I told Karl what I'd done.
"I give him ten minutes to be at your apartment door."
"He won't."
Karl snorted. "You think he's just going to let it go at that? He--"
"He won't because he doesn't have my address."
"No?"
"No."
A grunt of something I couldn't make out. He led me into a lot and toward a trio of cars--a Porsche, a Ferrari and a Lexus. I glanced at the Lexus. Nothing sporty or eye-catching--just sleek, powerful and luxurious. A banker's car. I walked over to it. Not a rental sticker to be seen. I stopped at the passenger door. A blip of the key fob and the door opened. I got inside.
"This probably isn't something we should discuss in a public place," I said as he started the car. "Where's your hotel?"
"I don't have one. We can talk at your apartment."
I tried to think of a way out of this that wouldn't sound petty. When I couldn't find one, I gave him directions.
WE DROVE A couple of miles in silence, then Karl said, "Back there in the alley. What you said about that morning, about what I said...it wasn't like that."
"You didn't say it?"
He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "I meant that your interpretation wasn't my intent."
"How else does one interpret, 'I'm leaving and I want you to date other guys'?"
A moment of silence, then, "You're right."
That's all he said: you're right.
More long moments of quiet, stretching into minutes. I cleared my throat. "I know this is awkward and you're trying to make it less awkward, but that isn't necessary. We're going to bump into each other even after this business with Benicio. Maybe we'll even have to work together through the council. That's fine. I have no problem maintaining a professional relationship with you, Karl."
"Professional relationship?"
"Yes, I can behave professionally, as shocking as that may seem."
"That's not--" A pause. "So that's it then. You don't want me coming around anymore."
I wanted to scream, "What do you think?" But I knew what he thought. That whatever he'd done, when he showed up, his irresistibly charming self, I'd want him back. Not that I'd get him--he just liked to be wanted.
"No, Karl, I don't want you coming around anymore."
His jaw tightened and I expected it to stay locked for the rest of the trip, but after he turned the next corner, he asked, "Are you hungry?"
My stomach flipped; those words were so familiar. Werewolves have an abnormally high metabolism, meaning a normal restaurant meal is never enough. He'd often have one dinner at six and another at nine, jus
t to avoid calling attention to himself by overeating. Tonight he probably hadn't eaten at all, so he'd be starving. But to admit to it? That would be to give in to the wolf, to concede that there were some instincts and drives he couldn't control.
