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“But,” he said.
The fact that he knew there was a but coming meant he really was learning. I’d dated men in the past who, if they’d put this much effort into the relationship, might still be with me. Of course, they weren’t serial killers. That did weigh heavily in the con column for Olaf.
“But telling me you want to hurt me, because I looked longer at Ted than you . . . What am I supposed to say to that? I’ve known Ted years longer than you. You and I aren’t even dating yet, and you’re already jealous?”
Olaf started to get angry. It rolled off him like sweet, musky perfume, and just like that, he smelled like food. “I am not jealous over any woman.” His voice was growling, deep with rage.
Apparently accusing him of being jealous over me had been the wrong thing to do. I should have been afraid; instead my stomach roiled. I’d just had a meal, but I was hungry again, just not for burgers and fries.
I leaned in to him and spoke low. “Your anger smells like food to me.”
His anger ramped up to rage. It made me want to lean even closer. It made me want to touch him, to lean my lips in and press them against his skin and drink him down. I almost put my face against his arm. I think if he hadn’t been wearing the marshal’s windbreaker, I’d have been rubbing against him like a cat scent-marking. I froze midmotion.
He stared down at me, the anger starting to fold away. I didn’t know many people who could go from that level of rage to cold and calm that quickly. It spoke of years of practice. He reached toward me as if he was going to put his arm around me. I moved away, but his arm kept coming like the hug was still going to happen. I stepped back farther, out of reach unless he was willing to grab me.
I watched, or maybe felt, him think about doing exactly that. “How are we ever going to do this without one of us getting hurt?”
He seemed to take the question seriously, as he seemed to take almost everything I said seriously. Under other circumstances, a man who paid that much attention to what I thought and said would have been great, but it was Olaf, so instead it was intimidating and a little scary—okay, a lot scary.
“I do not know,” he said.
Edward’s voice in full Ted mode called out, “What’s up, pardners?”
We turned and looked at him. He was standing far enough away that if Olaf had grabbed me, he could have gone for a gun if I wrestled Olaf for a few seconds.
Edward came a little closer and said, “The other cops are starting to watch. Decide what you want them to see.”
“We don’t have time to discuss this here and now, Otto,” I said.
“No,” he said, but he was still angry and uncomfortable. That was different. He was usually very certain of things, maybe too certain, but there was an unease about him I’d never seen before.
“Newman is waiting for us up ahead. We walk down the street now, and you’re on the other side of me just like you wanted. Problem solved for now.”
He frowned at me and then said, “I do not like caring about such petty things.”
“No one does,” I said.
“What petty things are we caring about?” Edward asked.
I looked at the bigger man. “Are you okay with me explaining to him?”
I think I surprised Olaf. “You would keep secrets from him for me?”
“Not big ones, but I’ll give you this one.”
“I wanted to walk on the other side of Anita but was unsure how to move Newman without social repercussions.” Olaf’s voice was empty of emotion as he said it, almost matter-of-fact. Again, he surprised me by being willing to be so honest. I knew a lot of people with a full set of working emotions who would never have been that straightforward.
Edward raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses, then gave his best Ted smile. “Well, now, I appreciate you sharing that, pardner, and I’ll help out in the future when I can.”
I looked at Edward then, and wondered exactly what kind of help he had in mind, but I let it go, because Olaf liked the answer.
“Thank you,” the big guy said.
“Oh, don’t thank me yet, pardner, but let’s go up to the house and help look for clues.”
Edward came to stand on one side of me and started walking. I moved with him, and Olaf fell into step beside me so we walked down the street three abreast like some old-time Western movie. Newman fell in on the other side of Edward as we continued up the street. The four of us walked down the middle of the street like we owned it. I had a flashback to all those old Westerns I used to watch with my dad in which the good guys walked up the street to meet the bad guys for that final showdown. I knew from reading real history that that wasn’t how gunfighting worked and the most successful lawmen of the Old West hid and shot at the bad guys from cover, but that wouldn’t have looked nearly as good on the screen.
“Why are you smiling?” Olaf asked.
