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I give his arm a shove. “A prostitute? Why would he think I’m a prostitute? Why not you?”
His lips tip up. “You think someone would pay to fuck me?”
Yes. I think if women knew what he could do, they’d be lining up outside of the apartment. Truthfully, they’d probably do it just for his almost smiles and the little offerings he leaves out on the kitchen island. For his notes and his company and his ability to cook recipes exactly as they’re intended to be made and served. For his secret badassery. For a few hours with the real Danny, the one he doesn’t let everyone see. I settle for nodding.
“I consider that a compliment,” he says. “And no, not a prostitute. I wanted him to know that I care about you. I was hoping he’d go easy on us.”
I puff out air. “Not Dunkins.”
“He definitely didn’t go easy on the lactose.”
I’m surprised into laughter, but the memory of Big Mike intrudes. I squeeze Danny’s hand. “Danny, Big Mike was in the station. And I don’t think he got arrested for hamster-napping. He ducked into one of the offices after he saw us.”
His eyes widen, and I can see him putting together the pieces that have started to form a picture in my mind. If Big Mike wasn’t there because he was under arrest, then he must work for the department or be affiliated with it in some way. That’s also the only way he’d have the power to get us sprung. And he’d only ask for our release if he didn’t want us to see him in the building, because…
“He’s an undercover cop.” Danny rubs a hand across his jaw. “On the upside, this means he probably didn’t steal that kid’s gerbil.”
“Do you think he’s been trying to buddy up to you because he wants insider information on the Burkes?”
He stares at the building. “Maybe. But Burke’s told them everything he knows. Why would I know something he doesn’t?”
“Corroboration?” I ask, even though what he’s saying makes sense.
“I think it’s something else,” he adds, his tone dark.
He’s thinking about something in particular. I can tell because of the way he’s tapping his bottom lip with his fingers, something he does often when he’s deep in thought.
“What is it, Danny?”
His gaze shifts to me. For a second, I just bask in him. Because he looks unreasonably gorgeous with the low sun playing in his hair, illuminating his dark, long-lashed eyes, the edge of his jaw, his unruly hair. “You have to get out of the apartment. It’s not safe.”
Well, shit. Here’s that argument I knew was coming.
ChapterTwenty-One
Danny
“That’s not happening.”
“Mira,” I say, trying not to sound frustrated. I knew she was going to say no. It’s not in her to stand down. It’s one of the things I like about her, though that list is getting so long, it could give Santa’s Naughty List a run for its money. I even like the things I was sure would drive me batshit crazy—like the way that SAD lamp illuminates her face, even though she’s started blinking it off the second I enter the room, or how she always gets up at least three hours after me, her hair rumpled and pillow creases on her face. Each time I see her like that, my fingers want to trace them. I’m clearly not well. “There’s something you don’t know.”
“That’s obvious from your reaction,” she says, opening her eyes wider. “Care to enlighten me?”
No, but there’s no point in hiding it, probably. She already knows more than almost anyone else, other than Ruthie and Shane. I glance around, seeing no one suspicious. Well, there is a guy dressed as a clown, making balloon animals that have funhouse dimensions, and an elderly woman dressed up like Alice in Wonderland, but this is Asheville, after all. It’s a regular day.
“I haven’t stopped,” I admit in an undertone. “I was supposed to stop acting as The Reaper. It was in my agreement with Safe-T Net,” I remind her. “Fifteen years. No official web security work. No unofficial poking around as The Reaper.” I swallow. “I don’t use that name anymore. I do it as Bo Peep, which sounds much less manly, but I’ve still been testing systems for their weaknesses and sending along the information.”
“Danny,” she says. It’s not a condemnation, but she looks…scared, and I’m the asshole who scared her. If Ruthie knew, she’d be scared too. Especially if she found out that Big Mike the undercover detective has been hanging out one floor below us, with a hard-on for chatting us up every chance he gets.
“If Jarrod finds out…” Mira continues, trailing off.
“It wouldn’t be good,” I admit. I flex my jaw, thinking about that prick Jarrod in his nice suits. I’m a good four inches taller, and whenever I go to a meeting with him, he makes damn sure I’m sitting and he’s standing so he doesn’t have to look up at me.
I couldn’t let him keep me from helping people, from doing what I love. I couldn’t give him that victory when he’s already taken so much. When he’s the first in a line of assholes who’ve hurt my little sister—the one who set the precedent, if you will.
It’s felt damn good going behind his back, helping other businesses so they don’t need to shell out for his shitty company’s services. Admittedly, it’s a whole lot less shitty than it used to be, because they have me—and I’ll always have to live with the fact that I helped that sanctimonious prick. I did it for Ruthie, because she insisted she couldn’t bear it if I went to jail, especially if it was because of something I’d done for her. I did it because she would have been left with no one to take care of her except for our parents.
But I’ll admit that I also didn’t want to go to jail.
