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Distraction station, party of one, here’s your ticket.
There wasn’t an inch of ink on his whole upper body. These days that was more of a rarity. It was actually refreshing to see all the dips and…scars.
I crossed to him to get a better look. Not that I needed to, but I couldn’t stop my stupid feet. It was a theme today, evidently.
A large silvery-pink scar slashed along his side, followed by two smaller ones.
“Knife.”
Startled, I took two steps back. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.” He didn’t turn around to talk to me, and his voice was so damn matter-of-fact.
“How did you get them?”
He reached for a knife stuck to a magnetic strip bolted into the stone backsplash. The edge looked damn sharp. Quietly and competently, he cut the meat on a bias and my stomach roared at the perfect medium rare color.
Was he not going to answer me?
Just as I was going to ask again, he turned with two plates with a perfect fan of steak on each. “Bad guys wanted me dead. Almost got their wish. Go sit down, I can hear your stomach from here.”
Happy to get off my feet, I took the bottle of wine and our glasses with me to the cozy nook in the far corner of his kitchen. Most of the downstairs was made up of the warm-toned stone walls. I was pretty sure they were the real deal too, not just some fancy faux finish.
The house had an older feel. It wasn’t terribly large and had the odd angles of a place that had been added onto over the years.
During the day, I’d bet there was a gorgeous wash of daylight across the whole space. “I like your place.”
“Your sister doesn’t.” He added the potatoes to our plates, then he stacked them down one arm like a waiter with silverware in his other hand along with undyed cotton napkins.
At my arched brow, he shrugged. “I don’t like waste.”
I snapped out the napkin and set it on my lap. His whole house had a bespoke quality to it. Nothing trendy, more like everything had a specific purpose and was probably one of a kind. From the fireplace, to the heavy beams overhead, to the scarred and ancient floors—everything was built to stand long after he was gone. “I gathered that from the lack of a picture on your walls.”
“Decorator got fired.”
“I just bet.”
“So, I’m going to need your log-ins,” he said without preamble.
I sat up straighter, my fork hovering over my plate. “Can’t I just tell you about the screen names that freak me out?”
“Doesn’t work like that. Especially if this asshat has been switching his profiles.”
“Could be a her.” At his steady look, I sighed. “It feels like a guy.”
“Agreed. Also, there are protections in place for the social media accounts.” He finished off another bite of steak. “I know a guy. He can do a search and see if there’s anything to see in your history.”
I took a swig of my wine. “History?”
My social media history was…eclecticto say the least.
“It’s not my specialty, but I know a guy who knows what to look for.” He stabbed at his potatoes, the tines of the fork clicking on the plate as he efficiently plowed through his food.
Did he even enjoy it?
He hunched forward and the medallion he wore glinted in the low light. I figured it was a patron saint or some such thing, but it looked more like a coin.
Interesting.
