Page 70 of No Good Fight

I watch him do it on the monitor instead of through the window like a normal person.

The lock turns a second later.

“Don’t be weird,” I whisper to myself, then immediately sit straighter and lift the book like I’ve been fascinated by Reva and her murder menagerie this entire time.

Ryder steps inside, bringing cold air and the clean, sharp smell of rain with him. His eyes find me first, then the monitors, then the book in my hand.

“You okay?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

“I’m worried Reva may be making poor romantic choices.”

His mouth curves as he locks the door. “Reva?”

“Book woman.” I lift the paperback slightly. “She has suspicious taste in men and possibly access to a shovel and enough water to get rid of bodies effectively.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is. I may have to intervene, or start the series all over again because it’s that good.”

Ryder toes off his running shoes by the mat, then grabs the towel he left over the banister before he went outside. He drags it over the back of his neck while walking toward the monitors, and I see him stop himself from leaning too close to check them.

What he’s actually doing is keeping himself from leaning too close to me.

I hate that I notice the correction.

I hate more that I want to praise him for it like he’s a golden retriever who didn’t eat drywall or pieces of the couch.

“You can check them,” I say, because apparently my mouth has chosen maturity against my will.

His gaze shifts to mine. “I got a glance.”

“Not the same thing.”

“No.” He rubs the towel over his hair, then tosses it onto the arm of the couch instead of crowding me on it. “But I’m trying to make it close.”

My fingers tighten around the book. “That’s annoying.”

“Me trying?”

“You being honest about trying. It makes it harder to complain or pick a fight over nothing.”

He laughs and then shifts closer slightly, just because he can see I’m waiting for a response. “I wouldn’t want to take that from you.”

I look at him over the top of the paperback. “Smart.”

His smile flashes quick and tired, then fades when his phone buzzes from the kitchen island where he left it charging. The sound pulls both our eyes.

My body notices every vibration now like a dog that learned to fear its owner.

Ryder crosses to the kitchen, keeping his movements easy. He checks the screen, reads the message, and sets the phone facedown again.

“Remy?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I close the book around my finger to hold the page. “About Preston?”

“About the statement.” He opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water, but he doesn’t drink right away. He holds it in one hand, cap already loosened, while his eyes come back to me. “He wants you to come in today if you can. It’s been a few days and he’s getting impatient.”