slaughtering pretty much every wolf in San Francisco.”
“So she’s like a werewolf slayer?”
“Not like, is ,” I said morbidly. Alex seemed supremely unaffected by the disgust I felt when talking
about the Du family’s “work.” “They work out of a deli in Chinatown.”
“I wonder what she’s doing all the way out here. And, you know, here. ”
I shrugged and Alex went for the ignition again and then stopped. He looked at me
and the flick of the muscle in his chin made my heart sink. I knew that flick. It
was the “I’m not letting this go” flick. “Why do you think a werewolf hunter would
come out to a crime scene?”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, giving Alex a hard look. “I have no idea.
Maybe she did it. Maybe she wanted something else to hunt since the family business
is going through a bit of a dry spell.”
“You mean because they killed all the werewolves in town?”
I didn’t say anything, but Alex still didn’t start the car, still didn’t break his
gaze. “Are there any new werewolves in town, Lawson?”
I shook my head. “Haven’t processed any in I don’t know how long.”
I saw Alex’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed slowly. “How about a werewolf who isn’t
new in town?”
A wire of heat snaked up the back of my neck. I stared out the windshield and focused
on the line of trees edging the scene in front of me. “What are you talking about?
And can we get going? I have to get back to work.” I checked my wrist bone, hoping
Alex wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t wearing a watch. Or possibly hoping that he would notice and change the subject. Instead, I felt his hand on my shoulder, his fingers
warm on my cool flesh. Unwillingly, I turned to face Alex, to look into those earnest
cobalt eyes. Eyes that a girl could fall into.
He is an angel. . . .
“Is he back, Lawson? Is Pete Sampson back in San Francisco?”
I looked out the window, doing my best to focus on a crushed Starbuck’s cup in the
parking space next to ours. I knew Alex could read minds. I also knew that he rarely
did it to me, likely because the few times he did, my mind was full of him, wearing
nothing but coconut oil and a cocktail umbrella. But I couldn’t afford for him to
do it now.
“I’m not going to read your mind, Lawson.”
I bristled in an attempt to hide my fear. “Then how did you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I know you.”
My heart throbbed, caught between wanting to tell Alex everything and wanting to protect
Sampson.
“And I guess I’m just supposed to trust your angelic promises,” I said, arms crossed
in front of my chest.
Alex looked away. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“What? What are you talking about? You did it before.” Heat rose to my cheeks, remembering
his slick grin after the coconut oil thing.
“Something’s changed now. Something’s different.”
I was genuinely curious. “What’s different?”
His shoulders rose. “I don’t know.” He sighed, turning to me, and the look in his
eyes truly wounded me. “I wish I did.”
I felt the need to confess to everything I’ve ever done that may have hurt him, but
he went on. “I tried to reach you when I was gone, and all I got was static.”
“You tried to reach me?” It was a mere whisper, the words sticking in my throat. Tears
stung at my eyes. He had reached out. He had tried . . .
Sampson. Focus. I let a little niggle of anger boil up, reminding myself that Alex
wasn’t trying to reach me: he was trying to read my mind. And a telephone was readily
available and a hell of a lot more reliable than the “loving” mind dip.
I broke his gaze, seeing the tip of his police badge winking on his belt. “No, Alex,”
I said, shaking my head. “Pete Sampson is not back in San Francisco.”
Alex started the car and I tried to quash down the guilt that welled up inside me.
I generally have two complexion colors:
“So she’s like a werewolf slayer?”
“Not like, is ,” I said morbidly. Alex seemed supremely unaffected by the disgust I felt when talking
about the Du family’s “work.” “They work out of a deli in Chinatown.”
“I wonder what she’s doing all the way out here. And, you know, here. ”
I shrugged and Alex went for the ignition again and then stopped. He looked at me
and the flick of the muscle in his chin made my heart sink. I knew that flick. It
was the “I’m not letting this go” flick. “Why do you think a werewolf hunter would
come out to a crime scene?”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, giving Alex a hard look. “I have no idea.
Maybe she did it. Maybe she wanted something else to hunt since the family business
is going through a bit of a dry spell.”
“You mean because they killed all the werewolves in town?”
I didn’t say anything, but Alex still didn’t start the car, still didn’t break his
gaze. “Are there any new werewolves in town, Lawson?”
I shook my head. “Haven’t processed any in I don’t know how long.”
I saw Alex’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed slowly. “How about a werewolf who isn’t
new in town?”
A wire of heat snaked up the back of my neck. I stared out the windshield and focused
on the line of trees edging the scene in front of me. “What are you talking about?
And can we get going? I have to get back to work.” I checked my wrist bone, hoping
Alex wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t wearing a watch. Or possibly hoping that he would notice and change the subject. Instead, I felt his hand on my shoulder, his fingers
warm on my cool flesh. Unwillingly, I turned to face Alex, to look into those earnest
cobalt eyes. Eyes that a girl could fall into.
He is an angel. . . .
“Is he back, Lawson? Is Pete Sampson back in San Francisco?”
I looked out the window, doing my best to focus on a crushed Starbuck’s cup in the
parking space next to ours. I knew Alex could read minds. I also knew that he rarely
did it to me, likely because the few times he did, my mind was full of him, wearing
nothing but coconut oil and a cocktail umbrella. But I couldn’t afford for him to
do it now.
“I’m not going to read your mind, Lawson.”
I bristled in an attempt to hide my fear. “Then how did you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I know you.”
My heart throbbed, caught between wanting to tell Alex everything and wanting to protect
Sampson.
“And I guess I’m just supposed to trust your angelic promises,” I said, arms crossed
in front of my chest.
Alex looked away. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“What? What are you talking about? You did it before.” Heat rose to my cheeks, remembering
his slick grin after the coconut oil thing.
“Something’s changed now. Something’s different.”
I was genuinely curious. “What’s different?”
His shoulders rose. “I don’t know.” He sighed, turning to me, and the look in his
eyes truly wounded me. “I wish I did.”
I felt the need to confess to everything I’ve ever done that may have hurt him, but
he went on. “I tried to reach you when I was gone, and all I got was static.”
“You tried to reach me?” It was a mere whisper, the words sticking in my throat. Tears
stung at my eyes. He had reached out. He had tried . . .
Sampson. Focus. I let a little niggle of anger boil up, reminding myself that Alex
wasn’t trying to reach me: he was trying to read my mind. And a telephone was readily
available and a hell of a lot more reliable than the “loving” mind dip.
I broke his gaze, seeing the tip of his police badge winking on his belt. “No, Alex,”
I said, shaking my head. “Pete Sampson is not back in San Francisco.”
Alex started the car and I tried to quash down the guilt that welled up inside me.
I generally have two complexion colors:
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