Page 16 of The Turning of the Tables

I’m going crosseyed, hungry, and the hotel restaurant is shit.

Any recommendations?

What are you in the mood for?

Honestly? Pastrami on rye.

I’ve got just the place. Am I bringing it to you, or you want to go out?

A field trip sounds good.

We could always come back here after dinner. But I’ll let that be your call.

I’ll pick you up.

I promise not to kidnap ormurder you.

oh shit im sorry

It’s okay.

I’d win if you tried to murder me, anyway.

Especially before dinner.

Murdering you before dinner would just be rude.

Be there in about 20?

Sure.

As long as there’s pastrami.

I grimaced.I’d been trying to be funny, but remembered a split second after hitting send on the message about not murdering him that his father hadbeenmurdered and he hadalmostbeen murdered, and now I felt like shit.

How do you make up a massive faux pas like that to someone you barely know who, now that I looked at the messages again, maybe hadn’t even been asking to have dinner withme, but just for a restaurant recommendation…

God, I’m a dope sometimes.

We’d agreed that we weren’t going to make more of this than sex, and I was already crossing lines.

I sighed. I was still at work, although I was packing up my stuff, so I’d head out to the hotel, grab Elliot, and bring him to the Secret Sandwich Society, where they had enormous sandwiches with as much greasy meat as Elliot could possibly want. And they had really good fries and a killer fish sandwich, which I loved.

And then… well, I was definitely not opposed to going back to his hotel room with him.

But this wasn’t a date. It was me providing dinner to afriend of Hart’s because Hart had abandoned him, probably thanks to the senator’s dead shifter wife. That part made sense, but I wondered what the hell Taavi was up to, since he wasn’t an FBI agent who had to keep weird-ass hours. Then again, I didn’t know if Taavi and Elliot got along or not. Probably rude to ask.

I pulled up to the loading area in front of the lobby and texted Elliot to let him know I was there.

A minute or so later, Elliot came out the front door wearing a tan t-shirt with an orange-and-brown flannel button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing muscular and scarred forearms, one of them revealing just a hint of his tattoos.

He trotted over, then slid into the passenger seat. I noticed that today’s earrings were dangling silver and what looked like jasper. I wasn’t usually into guys with earrings, but they really worked on Elliot. The sparkle of the silver set off his coppery skin and black hair.

“I assume Hart’s still dealing with the dead senator’s wife?” I asked, forcing myself to stop staring at his profile.

“Senator’s dead wife,” Elliot corrected, almost absently.

“Right.” It wasn’t my case anymore—I didn’t get to work the big fancy federal cases. I didn’t actuallywantto work the big fancy federal cases. They come with a lot of pain in the ass. “Where’s Taavi?”