Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Hey, I did not screw up your case,” I said.
He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Throwing up my hands, I said, “Why do you think I screwed up your case?”
“I came to you, let you in, and the next thing I know you’re being kidnapped by the SoPa pack,” he said, ticking off the events on his fingers.
“I never said they were SoPa,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“You think I can’t recognize a description of Dieter Rossi, SoPa enforcer?” He exhaled a long breath through his nose. “What did you tell them?”
“I didn’t tell them anything!” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Really,” he said. “Because let me tell you what it looks like happened. You asked the wrong people about my werewolves because you wanted the ten thousand dollars. Dieter got wind of it and he kidnapped you and you got away because you told them everything I’d informed you about.”
It was a little too close to the truth, and I felt my stomach tighten because of the agreement I’d made with Malik. Fae nature is finicky with promises. I’d tried to word our arrangement carefully, so I didn’t actually have to betray Nick, but I could feel my own magic tugging at me.
“Well, just so we’re being honest,” I said. “He wanted me dead for other reasons.”
“Sure. And what were those reasons?” Nick asked.
“I have some photos of him cheating on his girlfriend,” I said.
“You’re blackmailing Dieter Rossi?” He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Are you kidding me?”
“I wasn’t blackmailing him!” I said. “The photos were for a case.”
“What case?” Nick’s mouth was a flat line.
“I can’t tell you,” I muttered. “Client confidentiality.”
“Of course,” he said. “Client confidentiality.”
I poked him in the chest. “Hey—”
A sharp knock interrupted us and we both turned towards the door. Nick’s hand drifted towards where he usually wore his gun, and then his eyes snapped to the chair where he’d put his jacket and holster. Holding a finger up, he crossed the room to the chair and pulled his gun.
He nodded at me and I went to the door, saying, “Who is it?”
“Pizza,” the voice on the other side called out. “A large pepperoni?”
My shoulders relaxed, and I opened the door, signing the receipt as the guy slid the pizza out of the insulated bag. He handed it to Nick and accepted the clipboard back from me.
“Have a good one.” He headed down the hallway.
After I closed the door, we stared at each other for a bit, the smell of fresh pizza wafting between us. My stomach growled loudly, and I said, “You should eat. You used up all the healthy calories from your salad at lunch healing me.”
“I didn’t have a salad,” he said, heading to the kitchen to put the pizza on top of the stove.
“Let me guess, a whole grains bowl? A veggie wrap?” I opened the cabinet and handed him a plate. They had a delicate blue pattern around the edge, and they’d been Shannon and Marco’s before we moved her into the care facility.
He shrugged, and admitted, “A hummus plate.”
Laughing, I flipped open the lid, and we each took two slices. I scarfed my first one down right at the stove, reloading before I’d finished chewing the crust. Nick leaned back against the counter, but made quick work of his own slices.
At the second plate, we made our way to the couch, Nick grabbing his soda while I filled a glass of water from the tap. I was surprised he didn’t snark at the meal choice, but we’d both used up too much magic to eat anything other than a high-calorie dinner.
With a stomach full of greasy pizza, Nick looked a little more relaxed. He must have been starving. He wasn’t joking about healing being precision work. The wrong spell could do more damage than help. You could end up with an extra set of kidneys or blood clean of any white blood cells.
“How did you get away?” Nick asked.
“I know Malik Bell,” I admitted. “From when we were kids.”
“Same neighborhood?” Nick guessed. He licked some grease off of his thumb and I watched his pink tongue slide across the pad of his finger.
“No,” I said. “We were at a boys’ home together for a year or so when I was between foster families.”
“And he was ok with you taking photos of his second?”
“You’re behind on the news,” I said. “I don’t think Malik trusts Dieter any more than you do.”
Nick’s brow furrowed. “That’s going to be bad news for South Palmas.”
At first I thought he was talking about the pack, which would have been pretty progressive for someone whose job was to break up dangerous packs.
Then, I remembered who I was talking to.
He was talking about the actual neighborhood.
The territory that SoPa controlled. Of course, he was the kind of guy who worried about the people he’d pledged to serve and protect.
As I was ruminating on what terrible luck I had I was so into a guy who was so straight-laced, so genuinely good, I saw his chin dip and spring back up. His eyes drifted closed again and then snapped open. I took his plate from slack fingers.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
Standing, I padded to the kitchen and put our plates in the sink as quietly as I could.
I murmured to the air, using the barest hint of magic to convince it that it was warmer than the thermostat suggested.
The apartment warmed. Not hot, just enough that the next time Nick’s eyes shut, they stayed closed.
Air was mostly a party trick because it never lasted long without genuine effort.
Still, when I walked back to the couch, Nick had slumped over, his chin on his chest. I nudged him into a more comfortable position, laying sideways on the couch.
Grabbing the throw blanket Laurel had given me for Christmas a few years ago, I draped it over him.
His features relaxed in sleep, and he looked younger. Without the tension from the pressure he put on himself, he was even more attractive. Shaking my head at myself, I sat down beside him and closed my own eyes.
I woke up to sunlight blinding me. Squinting, I listened for the soft noises of someone in my apartment.
The apartment was empty, Nick’s jacket and gun gone.
Disappointment raced through me before I realized how ridiculous that was.
He had his own life, a job to get back to.
I should just be grateful he’d healed me instead of dropping me at the hospital despite my protests and leaving me with a twenty-thousand-dollar medical bill.
Keys scraped against the lock of my front door and I sprung up. It couldn’t be Jeffrey Jenkins. I still had three days to come up with the money.
The bag from the bakery around the corner came through first and then two Styrofoam coffee cups, the white lids on tight. Nick bumped the door shut with his hip and smiled when he saw me awake. I mirrored his expression and felt my cheeks heat.
“Borrowed your keys,” he said, offering over my key ring.
I accepted them back, and he walked to the kitchen, setting down the coffees and the bag. Trailing behind him, I could feel my eyebrows going up, even as something warm settled in my stomach.
“I got a call this morning from the ME,” he said. “Your tip was good.”
“What tip?” I watched as he tore the bag open to reveal four donuts and a couple of croissants. With a loud grumble, my stomach let me know it was still hungry after all the magic I’d used the day before. I snagged a croissant and tore into it.
“About werewolves not being the only ones made of magic,” Nick said. “I sent some unis to Sintown to check for bodies. They found an incubus stashed behind a dumpster. Who knows how long he’d been there, since the garbage guys never reported a body.”
Sintown was a few square blocks on the west side of San Amaro. Even if they’d seen the dead body, the garbage collectors might not want to report it since then they’d be on record and no one wanted to be on the wrong side of the pimps and madams who ran Sintown.
“And?” I asked. “Was he drained of magic?”
Nick nodded and, to my surprise, grabbed one of the chocolate-covered donuts. I ate the last of my croissant, licking the flakey crumbs off of my fingers.
“I figured you were a bran muffin kind of guy,” I said.
“Usually,” he said. “But these looked like something you’d like.”
I squinted at him, and a faint flush colored his warm brown skin. He avoided my eyes, grabbing a coffee. Pointing at his clothes, I said, “That’s a different suit.”
“Of course,” he said. “I keep a change in my car.”
His tone was amused, like it was a thing to have a second expensive suit in the car just in case you spent the night on some PI’s couch.
“The job can get dirty. Don’t you have spare clothes in your car?” he asked.
The last I’d seen of my car, it had a giant hole in the windshield and was in Five Dragons territory. If I was lucky, I still had a car. More than likely, I now had a parking space where I used to have a car.
“Jeans and a t-shirt,” I said. “Not an Armani suit!”
“Tom Ford,” he corrected, the flush darkening his skin again.
“I’m going to change,” I said, stuffing a donut in my mouth. “Into normal-people clothes. Since I don’t have a five thousand dollar suit in my car.”
“Find something decent,” he said. “I thought you could come with me to the morgue.”
“What?” I said, the donut muffling the word. I swallowed and spoke around the food, ignoring his wrinkled nose of disgust.
“You’ve been helpful,” he said. “Given how you’re living, you must need the money for something. I thought, maybe you might want a... leg up.”
Squinting, I said, “You’re just afraid if you let me go on my own, I’ll get kidnapped again.”
“The healing did take a lot out of me,” he said. “I can’t do another. So, I figured I’d keep you close. Plus, if you see the body, maybe you can tell us if we can discount fae magic completely.”
Suspiciously, I said, “I’ll go find something decent.”
“Anything other than your usual hobo-chic will do,” he said.
Just to spite him, I chose my best jeans and a t-shirt for a local grunge band. I found one of my only suit jackets to throw on top of it, so he couldn’t say I hadn’t tried. When I came out, his eyes traced down from my tousled blonde hair to my bare feet.
His tongue darted out, but then his lips tightened. He huffed a sigh. “Fine.”
“Not good enough?” I grinned cheekily at him. I turned in a circle with my arms out like I was modeling. “You don’t think it’s classy enough to look at dead bodies?”
He shook his head. “Put on some shoes, Parker. Let’s go.”
I grabbed my boots and a pair of socks and laced them up as he finished his portion of the donuts. I grabbed the last donut and my coffee, before realizing I’d need supplies if I was going out in the world.
Even though I’d survived, my run in with Dieter had thrown me a bit. I wasn’t as good at working with metal as I was with nature, and I didn’t want to be helpless again. Plus, no matter what Malik’s people thought, Dieter still wanted me dead sooner rather than later.
Opening one of the kitchen cabinets, I rifled through my supplies. I began grabbing things, balancing the coffee, donut, and some sticks, a rock, and a bottle of my favorite dirt.
“Here,” Nick said, coming up beside me. He held out my satchel, and I shoved all the supplies into it. “Do I want to know what that’s for?”
“Security,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”
“Obviously,” he said. “I mean, people who can take care of themselves often get kidnapped by dangerous werewolf packs, beaten to an inch of their lives, and let go because they happen to know the pack alpha.”
“Key word there is ‘let go,’ and an inch from death is still not dead.” Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my keys and took the coffee back from Nick.
“So, I should have let you just bleed internally because an inch from dead wasn’t actually dead?” Nick held open the door for me and I walked through, locking it behind us.
“Sure,” I said. “I could have handled it.”
In the hallway, I got a better look at Nick and muffled a groan. Even though he’d spent the night on the couch like me, he didn’t look like he had a crick in his neck or day-old stubble. Instead, his close cropped hair and light beard made it look like he was showing off he hadn’t slept at home.
He rolled his eyes up and muttered something about black-market witches and back-room alchemists. We headed down to the street and I tilted my head to examine his Mustang, the black paint shiny and clean in the morning light.
“Whose car is this?” I asked. “Do you have a cooler older brother you borrowed it from?”
“Well, my boring sedan is in the shop,” he said. “This was all they had for a loaner.”
His deadpan humor startled a bark of laughter out of me and I climbed in the passenger side, arranging my bag on my lap and shoving the whole donut into my mouth before I could get any crumbs on his detailed seats.
Despite his joke, it was obviously his car, from the public radio that came on as soon as he started the engine to the light and siren he had stowed in the back seat.
His suit from the day before was hung neatly in the back.
“You know,” I said. “They have therapy for people like you.”
“Fully functional adults?” He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the car’s sunglasses holder and slid the aviators on. “Yeah. That’s how we get to be fully functional. I’m pretty sure they have tv shows for people like you.”
“Cribs? My Glamorous Life?” I asked.
“Hoarders. Queer Eye,” he said, buckling his belt. He pointedly waited for me to snap mine on before heading out.
As we passed through San Amaro, I tore open the coffee lid, taking a sip of the bitter blend. It was a perfect antidote to the slight haze of exhaustion I was still feeling.
“Why are you inviting me?” I asked. “You could have just left me a note.”
After a long beat, he glanced at me, his eyes a quick flash of hazel visible in the gap between his sunglasses and his cheekbone before staring back at the road.
“I know you can be helpful,” he said. “And you clearly need the reward money for something. Call it a favor.”
Already I was shaking my head, the weight of the favor bearing down on me. “No, I don’t like owing favors.”
“I meant for me. After all, if you help me get a quick arrest, I’ll look good with the captain.”
“Fine,” I said. “I can help with that. But only because you said I can be helpful. Gosh, what a sweetheart saying such nice things about me. You liiiike me.”
“Forget it,” he said. I caught the flash of hazel again as his eyes looked towards me, while his head stayed firmly facing the road.