Page 69 of The Darkest Chase

And in less than half an hour, Mrs. Brodsky will pop by to check on him and bring him his usual lunch.

“Okay.” I force the words past my closing throat. “I’ll do that. Are you okay with the backlog? We’re up to our necks in orders lately.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. These old hands love keeping busy.” He smiles so cheerfully his eyes crease into little crescent slits of blue.

Still, I’m hesitant.

But if I don’t go, there’ll be no job and no hope.

My feelings can wait.

I kiss his cheek and smile. “Be back soon. Have fun!”

His only answer is an affectionate nudge, his attention already back on the lathe and the bedpost he’s working on. It was supposed to be my project, but when we discussed the Arrendell job the last time he was lucid, he agreed to take on all of my client work so I could sort out the logistics to prep for the big job.

I know it’s necessary, but guilt still swamps me as I linger, watching him before taking a deep breath, shouldering my bag, and heading out with the portfolio of sketches under my arm.

I can’t help craving distractions as I stroll down the street under the bright noon sun toward the lane leading up the hill.

Too bad my favorite distraction is parked in a patrol car down the street.

His tall, lean frame is slouched in the driver’s seat, his uniform sitting so crisp and trim on his rapier-like frame. There’s one angular cheek propped against his knuckles and a paperback open against the wheel.

He’s on the opposite side of the street. I have to stop myself from crossing traffic to stare at him.

So I make myself look away, pretending not to notice when he’s busy working. But I can’t help watching Micah from the corner of my eye as I head down the sidewalk.

The second I do, I glimpse movement.

His head comes up.

Those silver-blue eyes hit me like a gunshot.

I’m an instant ball of fire.

But I can’t let myself look at him, not directly, not when I’m too embarrassed to admit I’ve been watching him with the weirdest butterflies storming away in the pit of my stomach.

They only intensify when my phone goes off in my bag.

It couldn’t be him.

It wouldn’t be him, not when he doesn’t need anything from me right now.

But when I fish out my phone, there he is on my screen.

Vampire Man.

Even if it feels a little weird calling him that right now when he’s out here in broad daylight and clearly not disintegrating under the sun.

Micah: Person of interest spotted on 4th. Baseball cap, oversized sweater, sneakers, jeans, red ponytail. Pink everything. Very suspicious.

I stop at the corner of 4th and Main, looking back at Micah’s patrol car.

He’s stone-faced, looking down at his phone—until a sly glance slips toward me from under his arched brows.

I smile as I send back, Am I really that suspicious just for liking pink?

Micah: You’re never supposed to trust pretty women in pink. So that makes you trouble, yeah.

---