that
should
make her go all soft and warm inside. Charlie wanted to think that the reason it didn’t was because she was shaking in her sensible shoes at the possibility that an invisible, murderous monster could launch a second attack at any moment, but she knew perfectly well that wasn’t it.
You have issues, girlfriend
, she told herself severely.
“I
am
glad to see you.” Tony lowered his voice. “Way more glad than I should be, probably. I missed you.”
“Uh-huh. Go on,” she replied with the air of one waiting for the other shoe to drop, while Michael gritted out through teeth that appeared to be clenched with a fresh spasm of pain, “It’s been all of two fucking weeks. Guy needs a life.”
Reflecting how unfair it was that Tony thought they were having a private conversation—Pugh still being occupied in talking to the guards—while she was acutely conscious of Michael looking sardonic, on his back practically beneath her feet, she resolutely kept her attention on Tony. His eyes slid over her, warm with appreciation. They had the almost certainly unintended consequence of making her acutely aware that her hands were full of her canister of salt and the items she had picked up, which in turn reminded her of how much danger she and Michael were facing and how little Tony knew about what really went on in her life. Which was part of the reason why her and Tony’s relationship wasn’t evolving quite as well as she had hoped. The other part of the reason was six-foot-three and dead, but she wasn’t going there.
Anyway, the last time she’d seen Tony she’d been a day away from being released from the hospital after her near drowning, and he’d stopped by her room to tell her he was leaving because he’d been summoned to appear in court in New York to testify in a case and had to go. He’d kissed her good-bye, a surprisingly thorough kiss that had brought Michael, who’d been sprawled out in the chair beside her bed, to his feet with a growl. Since then, she’d talked to Tony twice on the phone, and he’d sent the roses. As far as she’dknown, he was still in New York, and she hadn’t expected to see him again for quite a while.
“You’re right, I’m here on business,” Tony admitted, and Charlie nodded even as her heart sank. She didn’t say anything else because she really didn’t want to know. Business for them could only mean one thing: a serial killer.
Truth was, she’d had her fill of serial killers.
“I know you haven’t had much time to recover,” Tony said, “but I need your help. That’s why I’m here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I see.” Charlie’s voice was flat. She was already formulating a regretful-sounding way of saying no.
“Bullshit.” Michael gave a derisive snort. “Like you’re the only serial killer expert in the damned country? Dudley”—as in Dudley Do-Right, which was what Michael had taken to mockingly calling Tony after the valiant (and inept) Canadian Mountie—“has got a major case of the hots for you, buttercup.
That’s
why he’s here.”
For a nanosecond her eyes slid in Michael’s direction. Other than narrowing them threateningly at him, she ignored his contribution to the conversation as Tony continued with a touch of apology: “I called to tell you I was on my way, but it went straight to voice mail.”
“I haven’t had my phone with me all afternoon.” She’d left it in her desk while she’d conducted the interview with Spivey.
“I guessed that.” Tony’s eyes seemed to probe hers. Keeping her agitation hidden from Tony, who knew her in a way Pugh and the guards did not, was difficult, and she wasn’t sure how well she was succeeding. Catching herself biting her lower lip, she immediately stopped. Her compulsive glances around the room, though, were something she just couldn’t help.
Oh, God, how would she explain her actions if the hunter attacked again while Tony and the rest of them were in a position to watch? If she
should
make her go all soft and warm inside. Charlie wanted to think that the reason it didn’t was because she was shaking in her sensible shoes at the possibility that an invisible, murderous monster could launch a second attack at any moment, but she knew perfectly well that wasn’t it.
You have issues, girlfriend
, she told herself severely.
“I
am
glad to see you.” Tony lowered his voice. “Way more glad than I should be, probably. I missed you.”
“Uh-huh. Go on,” she replied with the air of one waiting for the other shoe to drop, while Michael gritted out through teeth that appeared to be clenched with a fresh spasm of pain, “It’s been all of two fucking weeks. Guy needs a life.”
Reflecting how unfair it was that Tony thought they were having a private conversation—Pugh still being occupied in talking to the guards—while she was acutely conscious of Michael looking sardonic, on his back practically beneath her feet, she resolutely kept her attention on Tony. His eyes slid over her, warm with appreciation. They had the almost certainly unintended consequence of making her acutely aware that her hands were full of her canister of salt and the items she had picked up, which in turn reminded her of how much danger she and Michael were facing and how little Tony knew about what really went on in her life. Which was part of the reason why her and Tony’s relationship wasn’t evolving quite as well as she had hoped. The other part of the reason was six-foot-three and dead, but she wasn’t going there.
Anyway, the last time she’d seen Tony she’d been a day away from being released from the hospital after her near drowning, and he’d stopped by her room to tell her he was leaving because he’d been summoned to appear in court in New York to testify in a case and had to go. He’d kissed her good-bye, a surprisingly thorough kiss that had brought Michael, who’d been sprawled out in the chair beside her bed, to his feet with a growl. Since then, she’d talked to Tony twice on the phone, and he’d sent the roses. As far as she’dknown, he was still in New York, and she hadn’t expected to see him again for quite a while.
“You’re right, I’m here on business,” Tony admitted, and Charlie nodded even as her heart sank. She didn’t say anything else because she really didn’t want to know. Business for them could only mean one thing: a serial killer.
Truth was, she’d had her fill of serial killers.
“I know you haven’t had much time to recover,” Tony said, “but I need your help. That’s why I’m here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I see.” Charlie’s voice was flat. She was already formulating a regretful-sounding way of saying no.
“Bullshit.” Michael gave a derisive snort. “Like you’re the only serial killer expert in the damned country? Dudley”—as in Dudley Do-Right, which was what Michael had taken to mockingly calling Tony after the valiant (and inept) Canadian Mountie—“has got a major case of the hots for you, buttercup.
That’s
why he’s here.”
For a nanosecond her eyes slid in Michael’s direction. Other than narrowing them threateningly at him, she ignored his contribution to the conversation as Tony continued with a touch of apology: “I called to tell you I was on my way, but it went straight to voice mail.”
“I haven’t had my phone with me all afternoon.” She’d left it in her desk while she’d conducted the interview with Spivey.
“I guessed that.” Tony’s eyes seemed to probe hers. Keeping her agitation hidden from Tony, who knew her in a way Pugh and the guards did not, was difficult, and she wasn’t sure how well she was succeeding. Catching herself biting her lower lip, she immediately stopped. Her compulsive glances around the room, though, were something she just couldn’t help.
Oh, God, how would she explain her actions if the hunter attacked again while Tony and the rest of them were in a position to watch? If she
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