Page 38

As I rinse the soap from my hair, caution wins the debate, and I reach for the razor.

I pat myself dry, and my palm snags on the end of the towel. Searing pain shoots through my arm as I clutch it to my chest. I replay how sweet and gentle Ethan was while he rinsed my palm. His eyes didn’t take on their sparkle or lethal edge. It was soft. Caring. They almost looked a lighter shade of blue. That’s ridiculous. People’s eyes don’t change colors with their emotions. But his do.

I haven’t had an episode without Father. I always thought I’d be lost without him. But Ethan’s warmth was an anchor for me. His scent, my shield. Shaking my head, I wrap my wounded hand, then turn to get dressed, slipping on my shorts, sports bra, and T-shirt. I do a once-over in the mirror. My nipples on display is the last thing I need.

The sound of the television from downstairs greets me as I open the bedroom door. At least he’s made himself comfortable. Rolling my eyes, I pad down the steps, hoping against all hope that maybe he’s gone. My hopes are dashed when I enter the living room to find him with his legs outstretched on the coffee table. His bare feet overlap and give a little wiggle. Gerald remains perched on Ethan’s chest as he flicks his tail at me.

“Traitor.”

Gerald doesn’t even bother to lift his head at the insult.

Ethan places him on the pillow beside him.

“Feeling better?”

I should be surprised at this man’s interest in my well-being, but I’m not. He may be a serial killer, but like me, he seems to adhere to a personal code.

“Yes. Thank you. You may leave now.” I motion my arm to direct him toward the front door.

Shaking his head, he sinks into the cushions, ignoring my request.

“What do you want to watch with dinner?”

My foggy mind begins to piece together the meaning of his words. Small crinkles around the edges of his eyes confirm my assumption. Narrowing my eyes, I step forward, using every ounce of patience to hold the rage at bay.

“What do you mean, dinner?”

Smiling, he picks up his phone and waves the screen at me.

“I ordered us tikka. Don’t worry, I told them level five and level eight spice in the masala. You can mix it together however you like. Oh! I ordered us garlic naan as well.”

He’s giddy. The man is practically preening at the thought of garlic naan bread. Granted, it’s the most delicious kind of bread. But still.

Wait—how does he know my order? Did he hack my DoorDash as well? I’ve heard of being thorough, but this is just fucking rude now. Especially because I tend to order cheesecake at midnight. Where’s my fucking scalpel? Letting out a strangled sigh, I realize murder in my living room isn’t the answer—sad though it may be.

“I’m confused as to what’s happening here. I’m going to assume that nothing I say will make any difference. Even if I ask you to leave, you’ll somehow get back in…via the windows or fireplace like stalker-claus or something?”

Nodding, he taps the empty space beside him on the couch. I don’t bother hiding the toothy grimace that is my response.

“That is correct. Plus, I’m hungry. You’ve essentially ruined my location. Which means I’ll need to find and prep a whole new site, costing me weeks of searching. So, the least you can do is have supper with me. Perhaps even be cordial if that’s in your repertoire?”

Drawing my lips into a fine line, I mull the words over. I do feel a little bad about ruining the warehouse for him. An uncomfortable, tightness wraps my throat accompanied by an itch of annoyance.

“Fine.” Conceding defeat, I pad over to the couch. Ignoring his incessant tapping, I sink into the cushions, leaving a respectable three feet between us. He chuffs and begins clicking through movie options.

“What do you want to watch?”

“Murder.” I bore my gaze into his thick skull, hoping he gets the message.

“Ohh…how about true crime? No! A serial killer documentary!” He turns to look at me, sheer enthusiasm plastered on his face.

Fighting back the smirk, I nod. “I don’t want to watch another documentary on Bundy, though.”

“No problem. They really do focus too much on that man.”

The doorbell rings, and we both move to stand.

“I’ll get it.”