Once they were buckled in and on their way to Aaron’s flat, the silence in the car began to feel uncomfortable. Michael toyed with the idea of putting the radio on but then thought better of it. He was used to interrogating people for fuck’s sake, used to waiting them out. He could handle a little silence.
Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he did his best to ignore the tension building between them. Back in the conference room, he’d been caught up in the moment—the sight of Aaron tonguing his fangs proved to be an unexpected turn on. Who knew he’d find that hot?
But Jesus Christ, he’d been unable to do anything other than watch.
With thoughts of Aaron strictly off the table, his mind inevitably wandered back to the case and what they’d just learnt. Daryl White didn’t get his hands dirty, or they suspected as much, so if he was involved, someone was doing the killings on his say-so. And in Michael’s experience, it would be someone he kept close. If it wasn’t one of his bodyguards—and unless he’d recently acquired a shifter bodyguard, it wasn’t—then they likely knew who it was.
Or at least one of them did.
White was smart, had to be to run his business, his underground fights, and stay one step ahead of the law. They were going to need a healthy dose of good fortune to get anything on him.
But maybe they had that?
Aaron and Harry were like the SCTF’s own personal listening devices. White and the others wouldn’t know to keep quiet around them. Michael glanced at Aaron out of the corner of his eye. “How far is your hearing range?”
Aaron faced him, eyes almost black in the dim light of the car, and Michael was suddenly glad he had the road to concentrate on. “It depends.” Aaron swallowed, and Michael caught himself watching the bob of his Adam’s apple.
He looked away sharply.Eyes on the bloody road.“On what, exactly?” Focusing on the traffic ahead, he tried not to listen to Aaron’s soft breathing, tried not to remember the close touches they’d shared while listening to Harry on the speaker.
Michael still wasn’t sure what had come over him in that room. Aaron had been so worried, it practically poured out of him, and it’d drawn Michael in. He’d wanted to comfort him, which had been both impossible—there were other SCTF officers in the room—and ridiculous. But despite knowing that, he’d found himself brushing up against him, offering support that way, or with a squeeze of his shoulder or hand. And in the quiet, while they’d all been concentrating on Harry, it had felt right.
Now though, he felt really fucking stupid.
Aaron sighed next to him and ran a hand through his hair. Michael purposefully kept his gaze forward. “We have enhanced senses, but it’s not something that’s ever been measured. I don’t know exactly how close I have to be to someone to hear them speak because situations are always different. Doors could be closed—some are better at blocking sound than others—background noise plays a big part, and some people are just louder than others. And I have to concentrate.” He glanced over at Michael again and didn’t look away this time, as though he was studying him.
Michael tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, but something about Aaron made him react differently than he normally would. It wasn’t that he was a shifter—Michael had met plenty of them. It was just…
You like him.The voice in his head sounded a lot like Frank, which was disconcerting all on its own.
Ignoring it, he grabbed onto the thread of their conversation. “Concentrate?”
“Yeah, I mean I don’t get bombarded by people’s conversations all day long. That would drive me mad. I can pretty much tune them out now, only listen to what I want to.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” It didn’t really tell Michael what he was after though. “So, say if you’re in the middle of a fight, can you hear what’s going on around you? And does White usually watch the fights?”
“White?”
“Smith, then. Does he watch?”
Aaron finally faced forwards, another sigh escaping. “I don’t know for sure. I guess he probably does. But when I’m fighting, it takes all my concentration to pull my strength and speed enough to appear human and not let myself heal when I take a hit. I don’t pay much attention to those watching.”
“So you wouldn’t be able to pick out Smith’s conversation?”
Aaron laughed. “Not unless you want me to give myself away in about two seconds.”
Bollocks to that theory.
“Why did you do it, then? If it took so much effort to keep yourself in check, why bother?” The more he got to know Aaron, the more the question niggled at him. “I know you said you started going to keep an eye on Harry, but he’s a shifter too. Surely he can take care of himself? It seems like a fuckload of effort for something that could easily get you thrown in prison.” And Krillick Hall wasn’t somewhere any shifter wanted to go. Michael had seen enough reactions to know that. “Was it the money?”
“No. It wasn’t about that. I didn’t keep my winnings.”
Michael desperately wanted to ask what he did with them, but the tense set to Aaron’s jaw told him to leave it for now. “What then?”
Aaron shrugged and stared out the passenger window. “I liked it,” he said, so softly Michael had to strain to hear. “I liked the adrenaline rush of the fight, of knowing I could get caught out any minute.” He was silent for a moment. “And maybe I miss being human sometimes.” His wistful sigh cut off abruptly as he sat up straight. “Fuck.Ignore me.” He rubbed at his eyes and shook himself. “I’m just tired. Becoming a shifter saved my life, and I don’t regret it for a second. I love my pack.”
Michael kept as still as he could while driving. That was more honesty than he’d ever expected to get from Aaron. Maybe more than he wanted, because knowing something so personal—and he didn’t doubt that there was some truth to it—it made him feel closer to Aaron. And he couldn’t afford to go down that road.
“Please don’t repeat that to anyone.” Again, Aaron’s voice was no more than a pained whisper.
