Page 35 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

I grab the white rectangle shoved under a pile of local take-out menus. Mumbling the numbers out loud as I dial them into my phone, I tap the card against the counter, waiting for it to ring.

Ring—

Ring—

“Max Lobo.”

Thank goodness. I fling the card, pacing back and forth as I try to work off some of my anxious energy—and after what Roxy said, trying Abigail’s tea is definitely out of the question. “Max, hi. It’s Honey. Listen. You said to call if I’m scared. Well, I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am. More concerned, but… okay. It’s about Abigail. I⁠—”

The bell over my front door jingles as Max shoves it in with his right hand. His left is clutching his phone tightly, holding it to his ear, listening to me as I ramble.

Like an idiot, I stare at him while speaking into my own. “Oh. You’re here.”

He nods, and I disconnect the call before placing mine down on the counter. I miss. Too distracted by the solemn expression twisting Max’s rugged features, I don’t even know where the counter really is. The phone clatters on the floor.

Claws crossed that I didn’t just smash the screen.

Gus lifts his head. He’d curled up again when Roxy left, though I should’ve known better than to think he fell asleep. Climbing out of his flour bag throne, his tail slithering behind him, he scurries down the edge of the counter, using the supply drawer handles as a letter

“Thanks, Gus,” I murmur. Squatting down, I grab the phone with one hand. With the other, I heft Gus up, giving him an elevator ride back to his perch.

Max is still standing in the doorway, silent as the grave and just as imposing.

Talk about deja vu. I feel like we’re thrown back to… jeez, it hasn’t been a week yet… to less than a week ago when I woke up to question marks in his eyes.

That’s accusation there. That’s suspicion.

Ah, crud.

“I didn’t do it!”

He holds up his empty hand. When he speaks, his voice is more gentle than I’ve ever heard him be. The look has fled from his gaze as quickly as I noticed it. “Take it easy, Killer. I know you didn’t.”

You know what? I might have an easier time believing him if he didn’t insist on calling me ‘Killer’ like that. I’m not sure how that went from a distracted nickname to an… I don’t know… term of endearment almost, but after last night’s kiss, it has… and that has me even more nervous than before.

Which explains why, instead of being grateful that he’s not here to arrest me for Abigail’s murder, I simply ask him, “How?”

Long legs eat up the distance between us in seconds. His pine scent wraps around me, and I gaze up at him, exhaling softly.

“Did you do it, Honey?” he asks, his voice calm and direct. He’s an Alpha. No shifter can resist submitting to the quietly-stated dominance in his tone. “Did you poison Declan? Did you kill Abigail?”

I look him right in the eyes. “No,” I say softly.

He leans over the counter, rubbing the side of his thumb against the height of my cheek. “That’s how I know.”

I squeal. I want nothing more than to lean into his unexpected caress, but after last night, I know that’s a terrible, terrible idea. Forget it, Honey. As long as we’re solving murders here, you have to forget it.

I duck out of his reach, brushing my braid out of my face, letting it settle over my shoulder. “Oh. Okay. But then why…”

“Am I here?” His nostrils flare slightly. “I scent raccoon. Roxy Kane?”

I nod.

“I figured. Did she tell you about Abigail Cloverfield? Is that how you knew?”

The way he asks the question, I’m pretty sure Max already knows the answer. “Yes.”

It’s his turn to nod. “Right. Well. It’s true. I just came from her house.”