Page 79 of Eyes in the Shadows

I reach out and trace the line of her lovely neck, down her shoulder. “We’re going to try to make this work, right? Well, couples go out on dates. So, we’re going to a restaurant—a good one. It’s some new place, the Rouge something—”

Her eyes go wide. “Rouge Elephant? You got a reservation at Rouge Elephant?!”

“I know a guy.” I give myself a metaphorical pat on the back at her excitement.

“Chef Robert couldn’t get a reservation there for his anniversary,” she says with a chuckle. “He was so pissed that he completely changed the menu to prove we could do Vietnamese fusion, too. We couldn’t.”

“I’m sureyoucould,” I say.

She grins and flips onto her back, lifting her arms over her head in a stretch that pulls her shirt tight against her breasts. I lock eyes with the little nubs of her nipples poking through the pajama top. “I assume if we’re going out, it’s safe enough?”

“We think so. For this, anyway.”

Still no sign of him in the 36 hours since we struck. Rossi is somewhere licking his wounds and planning his next move. Logic—and lack of activity—indicates he’s at another of his homes.

I specifically selected the time and location for dinner to minimize the risk. She’s unlikely to see anyone she knows at an expensive, fancy restaurant, far from the center of Ulysses, late on a Tuesday.

“If it’s safe, can I have my phone back? I’d like to look up the menu at some point today.”

“I ordered you a new one, it’ll get here tomorrow. Wes is going to set it up for you.”

She sits up at that. “What? Why? I don’t need a new phone—”

“Because you need a way to get ahold of me so you’re not worried like you were the other night, but Wes still thinks it’s better if you don’t use your old phone. We’ll transfer your contacts and everything once this is all over.” And it’ll satisfy that deep, possessive animal inside of me to know that—at least for a little while—mine will be the only contact she has.

“I… I shouldn’t take it—it’s too generous—but you’re talking like it’s already done, so I suppose there isn’t much point in protesting?”

I shake my head.

“Then, thank you.”

After a quick kiss, I’m out the door. I drive to the crime scene first, and I’m not at all surprised to see that the police tape has been removed. The bodies disappeared after about six hours—two guys in official uniforms bagged and tagged them while Officer McCloskey took all the witness statements and his partner spoke to CSI.

I’m not particularly worried about what the law will find. It’ll be obvious, even to the mayor’s nepo-hire for coroner, that a long-range rifle was responsible forthe shooting. But I trust McCloskey to do what he can to bury as many details as possible—they were moving a storage unit full of illegal weapons, after all.

Then, it’s off to the Rossi residence for another long day of fucking nothing. The local cable company comes for maintenance on some of the buried lines, but no one else even drives down his street. 7 PM rolls around eventually, and Dimitri relieves me so I can go get ready for my date.

I don’t see her in our room, but I know she was just here from the steam in the air and the heaviness of her scent. I’m running a little behind, so I shower quickly and throw on the jacket, button down and slacks I already picked out. As I’m dressing, it occurs to me that I didn’t consider what she’d wear. Or if she had anything to wear…

Not a problem, evidently. She’s waiting for me in the foyer, and she’s in one of those little black dresses, as they call them.

“How do I look?” she asks, all nervous energy. “I was surprised the dress was packed—it’s, like, the only nice thing I own—and it’s not quite seasonally appropriate, but I couldn’t wear leggings to the Rouge Elephant.”

I have to school my expression, because I think it’s what’s making her anxious. She looks fucking hot, she just looks… well, too fucking hot. There’s definitely a little too much skin showing for the cold weather, and those legs look longer than normal in her heeled ankle boots. I have to swallow the demand that she go put on those leggings she mentioned.

“You look amazing, baby.”

She grins, and it’s so happy and relieved that I feel like an ass. I should have bought her something. Something expensive. Something worthy of her. Something with a fucking floor-length skirt.

“You look amazing, too.”

I hold out my arm and place my hand on her lower back to lead her out to the car. This place is the kind of deal with a dress code, so I decide to take Wes’s rented Mustang to fit in better—he cares a bit more about horsepower and a bit less about being seen since he usually ends up leaving in the van anyway. I open her door, then trot around to my side. The car starts up with a satisfying purr.

As we get onto the highway, I settle my hand on her knee and—just barely—resist the urge to slide it up between her legs. The skin of her thigh is freshly shaved, smooth, and so soft and warm. “So, tell me some things about yourself.”

“Some things?” she repeats with a laugh, looking down at my hand covering her knee. I can tell she likes it. “Like what?”

“Childhood, family, how you got into cooking. Tell me things. Date stuff.”

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