Deadly Descendant by Jenna Black Page B

pointedly leaving the folder on my coffee table. I hurried to stand up, too, afraid she was angry with me again, but there was no anger in her eyes, only a hint of pity, which was just as bad, if not worse.
    “I love you, you know?” she said. “And I know getting there sucked for you, but I’m glad you became part of our family. I hope you know that.”
    My throat felt suspiciously tight, and I found myself giving Steph a hug.
    I’m not the most demonstrative person in the world, and I could feel her little start of surprise. Butshe hugged me back and seemed to accept that hug as a suitable alternative to the words that I couldn’t force out of my throat.
    When Steph was gone, I sat on my couch for longer than I care to admit, staring at the folder.
    Did I want to find my birth mother? I’d told Steph categorically no, but I knew deep down inside that she was right, that there was a part of me that had always longed to know the truth. Even if it turned out to be painful and ugly.
    But maybe now wasn’t a good time to go poking around. I already had a supernatural murder case on my plate. One seemingly impossible task at a time seemed like enough.
    I left the folder on the coffee table right where it was, the temptation out in the open and staring me in the face, daring me to go searching. I ignored it, instead popping open my laptop and looking for more information on the two identified murder victims.
    It was hard not to keep glancing over at it from time to time, though.

F OUR
     
    A few more hours of research on the two identified victims gave me approximately squat.
    Different backgrounds, different ages, different socioeconomic status. The only thing I could find in common between them was that they were both white males, which was about all the police had been able to say about the first victim, anyway. It wasn’t exactly a lot to go on, and I had the uneasy suspicion there would have to be another victim before I’d be able to make heads or tails of the case. If I ever could. A pillar of confidence I was not.
    Tired and frustrated, I headed down to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. My plan was to ingest large quantities of caffeine and then continue researching the victims’ lives until I found something or my vision went blurry, whichever came first.
    My plans took an unexpected detour when I stepped into the kitchen and discovered I wasn’t alone.Anderson was sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, sipping from a cup of something hot and steaming. A quick glance at the coffee maker told me his beverage of choice was probably tea.
    Before Anderson and I had had our little talk, I might have peeked into the room, seen him sitting there, and then beaten a hasty retreat. I was tempted even now to just grab a bottle of water from the fridge, but that smacked too much of cowardice. Besides, I was eventually going to have to get over my discomfort around him, seeing as I was living in the same house with him and he was my boss.
    Anderson raised his mug to me in a silent salute, and I nodded. Then I began the ritual of making coffee, hyperaware that Anderson was nearby. I kept sneaking glances at him, and what I saw almost made me forget the whole god-of-death-and-vengeance thing.
    He looked … sad. Almost lost. And I took a wild guess about just what the cause might be.
    I doctored a cup of coffee, trying to talk myself out of starting a conversation with Anderson. Whatever was wrong was none of my business. Especially if it had something to do with Emma. Anderson wasn’t my friend, not in any real sense of the word, so I had no moral obligation to try to make him feel better.
    Logical arguments had no effect, and once my coffee was ready, I found myself walking toward the kitchen table instead of heading back to my suite and my work. I sat across from Anderson but didn’t quite know what to say.
    “Making any progress on the case?” he asked, then took a sip of his tea.
    I shrugged. “Not a whole