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“What’s that?” I ask, referring to the small glass vial hanging from the silver chain. “Don’t tell me you’re a vampire, too.”
His brows furrow. “You know more than one vampire?”
“No.” I chuckle. “It’s just an inside joke between your brother and me.”
He still seems confused.
“When I first met him, he always came out at night and lurked in the shadows. Part of me thought he could be a vampire.”
“And me? Why would I be a vampire?”
I point to the vial on his chest. “Your necklace. Does it contain the blood of your enemies?”
As if I just told him the funniest dad joke ever, he burst out in laughter for several seconds. “No, sweet girl. Not blood—poison.”
Immediately, we both go silent as the air turns serious.
“Like your husband, I have my vices, too. My enemies don’t escape flames; they accept their fate with the law, or”—he fingers the vial of poison—“they do the world a favor and spend eternity where they belong.”
HOLY. SHIT.
Did he say—You know what? I don’t even want to think about what he means. Some things are meant to stay a secret.
“So, what do you do for a living? Are you a lawyer, too?” I try changing the subject because damn. The guy scares the shit out of me.
He scoffs. “I look like a lawyer to you?”
No, not really, but admitting he looks like an assassin seems rude. “Van doesn’t look like a lawyer, but he is.” I shrug. “You guys are full of surprises.”
“I’m no lawyer.” He says lawyer like it disgusts him. “I’m a profiler.”
“Oh, cool! Like the TV show?”
He rolls his eyes. “No wonder Van locked you away. You’re far too innocent for this world.”
What the heck? “I’ll have you know, I’m a hacker. I’ve stolen thousands of dollars from wealthy men over the years.”
Shakespeare chokes on his laugh. “That’s called a gold digger, sweetheart. Hackers destroy the lives of their victims, not steal vacation money from them.”
Could I punch him and run before he catches me?
“I’m not a gold digger,” I argue.
“You’re no hacker either.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
He shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t give a fuck either way. He’s made up his mind about me, and nothing I can say will change it.
“So, this Blake guy…” he finally says after several minutes of silence. “He won’t hurt you?”
I can’t tell if he’s worried about me or eager to kill. “No, he won’t hurt me. Now, the chief of police that we’re going to see, I’m not so sure. But if I had to guess, I’d say he won’t hurt me either—bad PR and all.”
Shakespeare grunts like he’ll believe it when he sees it. “And where, exactly, are we meeting these two upstanding men?”
“The university. Blake wants us to go together.”
A deep rumbling that could be a growl or a laugh fills the car. “Blake better adjust his expectations. You go with no one but me.”
