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I may have imagined it, but it was like an invisible mask came over the blue of his eyes, guarding and dimming the light in them—even if only by a smidgen.
"The man's history is fascinating. His family had a lot of enemies, but I don't see how it ties to him. But then again, the urge for revenge could exist beyond generational conflict. I could see someone messing with him simply because they hated what his forefathers may have done to theirs in the past."
"You think there's a personal agenda?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders like a fuckin’ Ralph Lauren model.
"It's too soon to tell. Anything is possible at this stage, but I know the police aren't looking at this as an accident of old age. Someone could have messed with his food, and it triggered an anaphylactic shock. At his age and with his heart problems, it would be fatal."
It was like someone had dropped a whole bucket of ice on my head. And Reed looked like that was just the reaction he'd wanted to get out of me.
He had this... he seemed to have said the words only because he needed to see how I'd respond.
And at that moment, they made me feel like I was a rooster who was about to get into a fight.
I gulped. Why did my senses sting? Reed was a good guy, right?
Or maybe I was making too many close-call judgments far too soon?
It suddenly felt dangerous in here. Like I was the hunted, and there was a hunter very close by.
I just couldn't figure out if it washim.
"Honestly," he continued, "I think it could have all just been a pretty honest mistake. It's easy to mess up plates of food, especially at big parties like these. I'd rather leave all those dirty details to the police."
Just like that, my breathing evened out. Maybe he wasn't trying to trip me up.
He'd just trusted me with a case detail—and this wasn't really hidden knowledge, was it?
I was overthinking it. I cleared my throat.
"I knew him from my work. He was a good man. I can't speak for his past, but he really liked kids and history. Maybe that's why we got on so well."
"When did your thing with history begin? You really seem to love the subject."
I beamed. "I do. And I think it's been there ever since I was a kid. It's my mama's fault, actually." I laughed.
"She told me my dad was a famous Southerner from a devilishly rich family, and that got into my head. I think I hunted history books trying to find out who he was. But she managed to keep his name and details hidden long enough for me to lose interest in the specific details. The love for the subject remained."
Reed's reply was soft. "I'm sorry, Junie. That couldn't have been easy."
Why had I shared this with him? It wasn't like me to blurt out my seedy family history to a guy I'd just met.
Why did he make me my heart hammer like I'd known him my whole life and that I could spend the rest of it getting to know him better?
I looked away from him. "It's fine. It's all I've ever known, really."
Before he could say something else, the door opened, and two more men sauntered in.
I could not even tell who was the most stunning of the lot—was this some kind of a hot-guy heaven?
"Hey, Reed," the brawnier one among them was saying, "give us a SITREP on the op, man!"
He immediately stopped when he saw me. The silence in the room was loud enough to crack glass.
I looked from Reed to the two men and back.
What op? And why in the name of all the documentaries I'd watched and books I'd read ... wasn't this SEAL terminology?
