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“I brought food.” I don’t stop walking until I’m right next to her, holding out the bowl, feeling very fucking much like my not-Dad. I hate that, but it’s better to be close. A lot better.
Daisy’s eyes go to the bowl. “I ate.”
“No, you didn’t. There’s no—” I make a show of glancing around the room just in time. “There’s no fridge in here. There’s no food. You didn’t eat eggs.”
Her brow furrows. “I forgot, then. I was tired.”
She probably felt like shit, since she had five fucking seizures last night. “I didn’t forget. Come eat with me in the other room.”
“I’m not done working.”
“Bedone working. We have to talk.”
“About what?”
About nothing. I want her out of this room. I want to tuck her into bed. From my position next to her seat, I can see how tired she still is. It’s all I can do not to pick her up and carry her out.
“Security updates.”
She rubs a hand over her eyes, her shoulders dropping, and a quieter alarm goes off in the back of my mind. Daisy’s in the dark already. She should be okay.
Aftereffects from last night, maybe.
I put my other hand out. Daisy uncovers her eyes and, with a sigh, puts her hand in mine.
We are not holding hands. I’m helping her up. That’sit.
She follows me out to the living room and falls into an overstuffed couch. I give her the bowl and the napkin and the fork and take a seat across the room.
Wow—more torture. I want to be on that couch with her. There has to be a security justification for that.
Daisy takes a bite of shells and cheese and exhales like she’s been starving for that andonlythat. Then she catches me watching and arches an eyebrow.
“You wanted to talk?”
“I looked into the people you mentioned. None of them seemed like good candidates for hiring a hit man. Shane and I also went through the list of attendees at the exhibition.”
“Did you find anything?”
“No.” Jesus, she looks so tired. I can’t tell her about searching for Kenneth Prickman tonight. Not unless more evidence points to him. “But we should discuss some ground rules.”
Amusement is different on a face with enormous black eyes. “You’re giving me rules?”
“No, I’m giving myself rules. I have to be able to see you at least once an hour, so I’ll be visiting you in your studio. Also, no more forgetting to eat.”
Daisy tips a shell onto her tongue. It’s not meant to be provocative. She’s not used to anyone watching her eat. “I’m sorry I forgot to eat.”
“You are not.”
“You’re soworried.” She curls her tongue around the fork, swallows the shell, and almost makes me come in my pants.
What the fuck.
What thefuck fuck fuck.
“I might’ve been worried before, but I’m not now.”
“How come?”
