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Agent Forrest sighed. “Again, I’m sorry. Long day. Not much sleep.”
“I get it. And, hey, I must’ve looked suspicious. Siren blood, crime novelist, canceling the day before a big—what, money laundering? Embezzling? Fraud-related crime?”
“We didn’t know you were a siren. But…yes.”
“I’m flattered, Agent Forrest.”
Agent Forrest hesitated again, and then said, “Can I introduce myself properly? Blake Forrest, Financial Crimes Unit, meta-human, werewolf.”
“Very formal of you.” Alex saluted him from the bed. “Thank you.”
“Do you take anything seriously?”
“Yes. My friends, my career, the fans who’ve lost a lot of money and who’ve been hurt by this. They’re who I write for.” He touched the book cover; he thought, this is serious. You giving me something of yours. A scent of yours, a belonging. “And I’m not much of a siren. It’s diluted enough to not even show up on the registry. Which is why you didn’t know.”
“I should’ve known,” Agent Forrest said. “You’re—never mind.” He also bit his lip, and shifted in the chair. “I’ll let you rest.”
“I’m what?”
“Get some sleep. Are you in pain? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good, thanks. I’m what?”
“I didn’t say anything. I’m leaving now.”
“They’re letting me out of here tomorrow morning,” Alex informed his retreating back. It was also a very nice back. Extremely so. “If you want to know. If you want more help with your financial fraud case and the mystery of the vanishing convention. If you want your book back.”
Agent Forrest paused halfway to the door.
“So I’ll see you in the morning,” Alex said.
“I…maybe. If I have the time.” He put his head on one side, studied Alex. “You’re smiling.”
“Excellent deductive skills.”
“I mean you smell like you’re smiling. Like…sunshine.” Agent Forrest did the hand through hair gesture again. Dark strands slid through his fingers, touched with one or two stray streaks of silver. “But you are tired. Get some sleep.”
“That’s cheating.”
“It isn’t. I’ve disclosed it. Rest, Mr. Lyster.”
“It’s just Alex,” Alex told him. “Please. We’re sharing books and all, now.”
That earned a tiny evanescent grin, there and gone, tempted out for a second, and oh, Blake Forrest was even more glorious when grinning. “I’ll see you in the morning. To ensure your safety. Since you’re recovering. And apparently asking questions. Without oversight or any consultation with the agent in charge.”
“Which is you. And you want me to be safe.”
Blake managed to both blush and glare at him again, which made Alex’s heart do an excited small flip, because yes, yes to the hotness and the hint of power and the protectiveness, please. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“I’m your responsibility now?”
Blake did the almost a growl again, and flung open the door, and vanished with surprisingly little noise, given annoyed werewolf size.
Alex looked back down at the book in his lap. His stitches ached a little, but not badly. His body felt tender, bruised, aware of recent last-minute surgery.
But also alive, alert, awake. Intrigued, because he had a mystery and a tantalizing crime-solving werewolf, and he wanted both of those. He wanted them in a way that felt like possibilities, like questions that might have answers, a story unfolding, taking shape before his eyes.
The Dark Sky, Dusty with Stars
