"There's one broker site left with your information. If he uses it, I'll get an alert. The removal is still pending, but the watch is already live for all of them."
The kouign-amann had been sitting untouched while Axel talked. Now the worst of the update was over, and her body remembered it was hungry.
She tore off one warm edge. Sugar cracked under her fingers. The pastry was buttery and soft inside, crisp at the corners where the caramel had set. The first bite dissolved into butter and caramel on her tongue.
Reese licked sugar from her thumb and looked back at Axel. "Can I ask you something that isn't about my case?"
He set his coffee down and gave her his full attention. "Ask me anything."
"Is everyone in Fate Mountain a mate.com success story?"
"No," Axel said. "Some shifters still meet the old-fashioned way."
"What's the old-fashioned way?"
"Getting rescued from a criminal conspiracy."
She let out a short, genuine laugh that surprised her. His eyes lingered on her face, a smile playing on his lips. She caught herself leaning toward him across the table.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat with someone and simply felt good. The realization hit hard. The last time she had trusted a man who made her feel safe, it had ended badly.
"Thank you for everything," she said, standing. "I should probably go."
He stood when she did and gave her space. "I'll text you when the last broker confirms," he said. "If you have any other safety concerns, any at all, feel free to contact me."
"I will."
She walked home checking cars out of habit. But somewhere around the second block, she realized she was still smiling.
Chapter
Nine
The last brokerfolded in a one-line confirmation. Axel read it standing at the stove with metal tongs in his hand and pork chops frying in a pan. He turned the chops and opened a text to Reese.
The last site confirmed. Both names are clear everywhere.
So I'm officially nobody.
Officially unlisted.
What a relief.
He plated the chops and carried them to the small table by the window, Main Street dark and emptying below. They'd been texting back and forth since the meeting at the bakery.
It had started as questions about the case. Then she started to ask general questions about his work. Like:What does the lumber yard need cameras for? Sawdust theft?He'd answered and asked her something about her life. Neither of them mentioned that the relationship had moved beyond purely professional.
Neither of them brought up mate.com. Their fated mate status was the unspoken fact behind every message.
The phone lit again.What are you listening to tonight?
The sleeve from tonight's choice of record sat on the table where he'd left it. He lifted it with one hand while he opened the camera on his phone. He caught the record cover and the pork chops in a shot and sent it.
It was Ann Peebles,I Can't Stand the Rain, from a Reno store with a listening booth in the back and a wall of signed soul forty-fives behind the register. He'd lost a whole afternoon in there once.
Eggs again here,she wrote.I'm going to check out that album on YouTube. I loved the last one you suggested.
He typedYou should come over and listen on my sound system,looked at it, and deleted it. Too much for a stray text.
