Page 32 of Sight of Fate

Uneasy, I shake my head. “You’ve already done a lot for me.” He lifts a shoulder as if it isn’t that big a deal. I’ll have to think of something to do for him. “Thank you. Although, for a Southerner, I’m doing pretty good driving in the snow.”

His brows draw together. “Have you never driven in the snow?”

I smile and open the door, wondering if he’ll say anything about the unpacked boxes or the crate of food on the counter. “Maybe an inch or two, but nothing like this.” I wave to the left. “Would you mind putting them in the kitchen?”

He beams, steps in and sets down the bag, then returns to the front door. After propping it open, he flips the lid of his toolbox and grabs a screwdriver, then kneels to remove the doorknob.

“This is going to take about thirty minutes to install. Then, I’ll have to add your fingerprint to the system,” he says. “Feel free to go do whatever you usually do. Pretend I’m not here.”

I snort, and he stops and gives me a curious look.

“Not possible. You’re hard to miss.” That slow smile spreads across his lips again, and I swear my knees go weak. “Although, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of these wet pants.”

He clears his throat.

I wince. That sounded really bad. “It’s just. The snow is deep. No boots.” Huffing, I give up. “Forget it. I’ll be back.”

Those deep blue eyes stare at me with a mix of laughter and heat. I completely ignore his muffled offer to help and beeline to the bedroom to dig through my small stack of clothes for a sweatshirt and leggings, then hang my pants over the shower rod to dry. Sliding my feet into slippers, I return to the entry.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, trying to think of what I’ve got to offer. “Water or water?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good. Almost done.”

I shuffle into the kitchen and unload the groceries he bought. Bread, deli meat, soup, chocolate, crackers, eggs, and a bottle of white wine. Smiling, I stare down at the items. A warm, fuzzy feeling wraps around me.

I pick up the wine. It reminds me of the bottle Cara bought me for my twenty-first birthday. Since I didn’t have any family, she went all out. Threw me a party filled with good music, lots of booze, and all our friends. Best day of my adult life. I sigh as I remember the anniversary of her death is coming up. Every year I order pink roses for her grave. They were her favorite.

Shaking off the melancholy, I finish putting the perishables in the fridge, then store the remaining items in my crate.

“All done,” Macklin says, getting to his feet and holding out a scanner. “Once I have your fingerprint, I can set you up in the system.”

I stare at the small, dark screen. If I give him my fingerprint, is it going to go in some database where one of Hank’s hackers can find it?

He reaches out and lifts my chin. “It’s a closed-loop system. Only Teague, Andros, and I have access.”

My shoulders slip down a notch, and I press my finger against the glass until the green light comes on.

He fiddles with it for a second, then motions to the door. “Step out. Use your fingerprint to get in.” He makes me do this several times.

Every time I press the glass with my finger, it beeps, and the door unlocks. The brief sound is reassuring in a way I didn’t expect.

“Okay. You’re good to go.” He packs up his toolbox and opens the door.

“Thanks for this,” I blurt. It’s obvious he’s only upgrading the system for me. All three of them can easily take care of anybody stupid enough to break into the home of two gargoyles and a vampire.

His deep blue eyes stare steadily into mine, understanding in their depths. “Call me if you need anything. Any time. I’m always up.” He saunters out the door and down the hall to their place.

I stare after him. Reaching his apartment, he turns his head and motions for me to go back into the apartment, standing there until I do.

He knows I’m scared, probably because I wasn’t exactly subtle about the pass closing. Hopefully, he doesn’t know the extent of it. I exhale heavily. The car was easy in a way. I could see every entry point. Here, I can’t sleep unless I can see the front door. Even then, I’m constantly checking and rechecking to make sure it’s locked and nobody is standing outside in the hall.

Shivering in the chilly air, I turn up the thermostat and slide into the comforter on the couch. My insurance client paid me for his website today. So, there’s a little bit more on my prepaid credit card. And last night, I sent the line art drawing to the author for her review and feedback.

I contemplate taking on another gig after this one finishes. There’s very little for me to do at night except watch TV, which holds little appeal, having spent too many nights in the hospital mindlessly bingeing shows. Work is better. Plus, if I can make enough side money to cover my bills, I’ll be able to bank my entire salary.

Someone knocks on the door, and for a second, I freeze, but I force myself to get up and go look. Maybe Macklin forgot something. Peering through the peephole, I see a large box with a picture of a fancy coffee maker on it. Intrigued, I crack open the door.

Teague pivots to the side and flashes me that broad smile of his. The one I’ve sketched a thousand times but never get tired of seeing. “I brought you something.”