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“It was a rude awakening,” she says, her lips lifting. “You know, there was a leaf in my hair at the station. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to pluck it out for me.”
“I liked the way it looked,” I admit.
She leans down to me, her red lips against my ear, and I feel my cock stirring before she even speaks. “Like I just got fucked against a tree?” she whispers. Then she leans in and bites the lobe, making me instantly hard.
This woman will be the death of me, but it will be a good death, the kind of death Medieval poets would write songs about.
Still, I’d be a fool to forget that she’s confused. She’s been plucked out of her life for a month, or however long it takes her ankle to heal, and once it’s restored to her, she might want nothing more to do with this apartment, or the misanthrope who’s willingly imprisoned himself inside of it.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Mira
No bugs in the apartment, thank bejesus. I didn’t like the thought of someone watching me hop around on one foot, spy on my neighbors, and touch myself while thinking about touching my roommate. I’m so relieved to hear the good detective’s all-clear that I offer to make him a drink on the spot. I want to be alone with Danny, too, for obvious reasons—but I also don’t.
Because…
I’m scared, and not just of the hex, or the robot woman across the way, or the detective downstairs who is possibly trying to put the guy I like behind bars. I’m scared of the way I feel about him. I’m scared that it might change once my life goes back to normal, and also that itwon’tchange. I’m scared of what my new normal might look like at the end of all of this. I’m scared of the multitude of questions that might end with forty-two.
So I hand over the detective’s Old Fashioned, and the three of us sit down in the living room to wait for the others—him on our favorite chair, and us on the couch. I know they’re coming because Delia has been sending me stream-of-consciousness texts and requests to leave the apartment. She doesn’t seem to know about our near arrest, so I guess Shane has more self-control than I do, but she knows there’s an undercover cop watching us, and also that the unidentified creepy woman has been upgraded to probably creepy.
Turns out, Deacon Montgomery, who seemed fastidious and to the point when he came into the apartment, is quite the talker when he’s on the sauce. He’s now on his second drink, and the dry looks Danny keeps throwing my way are giving me quite the core work out as I struggle to keep from laughing.
“You know,” Deacon says, rubbing a hand over his salt-and-pepper stubbled jaw. “I remember a case of a woman watching a guy like that, apartment across the alley, from my days on the force. No one took him seriously. They thought he was a nut.”
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling Danny silently begging me not to ask follow-up questions. “What happened?”
“Killed him,” Deacon says bluntly, leaning back in the chair and making himself comfortable, as if he weren’t delivering alarming news. He shakes his nearly empty drink at us. “Mind you, he went over there to confront her. Drank something she made for him, which was a big mistake. Don’t do that. If he’d waited forherto try to break in, he could have had a chance.”
“I’d prefer if there were no breaking in of any kind,” Danny says hoarsely. “I’ve already asked my buddies to put a padlock in.”
“You have?” I mouth, looking at him.
He nods, and a feeling of warmth comes over me, one that’s only partially caused by thevery goodwhiskey in our drinks.
Danny is serious about protecting me.
Deacon nods his head four times. I know when someone’s had too much to drink, and I’m starting to think I made his second pour too strong. “That Burke’s a good kid. Shame about those parents of his.”
“You don’t think this woman who’s watching us could have anything to do with them, huh?” I ask, thinking about what Big Mike said to Danny about the Burkes.
He laughs and runs his fingers across his beard. “No. The kid hasn’t lived here in weeks. She’s interested in you.” He points at Danny, then shifts the finger to me. “Oryou.”
Well, shit. I hadn’t really considered that possibility.
Danny gets up and paces toward the window, then pulls the blinds down. I know without asking that we’ll keep them that way until we’ve figured out who she is and how to make her go away.
“I’ve never seen her before moving here,” I object. “She’s a complete stranger to me.”
“I’ve never seen her,” Danny adds as he settles back next to me, “but her description doesn’t sound familiar to me either.”
“You don’t need to notice someone for them to notice you,” Deacon says, then shrugs a shoulder. “Just ask that dead guy.”
“You’re kind of freaking me out,” I say.
“Maybe I’m trying to.” Deacon sets his drink on a side table and hunches forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Better to be careful than pay the price. That’s what I always tell clients. Someone acts irrationally, you should expect them to continue acting irrationally.”
A knock lands on the door, and I flinch, because the buzzer didn’t go off. Doesn’t the buzzer always go off? Then again, if it’s someone who wants to kills us, they probably wouldn’t bother knocking.
