Page 79 of The Devil's Waltz

I spoke to Harper a few hours ago, so I know what’s going on. Are you sure you’ll be able to get away for dinner?

I hesitate before sending another message.

I can bring you something if you need to stay there.

Five minutes go by before I get a response.

I appreciate that, kiddo, but I’ll need a break by that point, anyway.

That’s…unexpected. Though Dad has always been a bit better with the whole work-life balance thing than Mom.

Okay. See you soon.

Leaving the condo a few hours later, I smile at the middle-aged, female hunter stationed at the door. We make the short walk to the bistro a few blocks away, and I try to ignore the feeling of being watched as she follows me.

Last time I was in the city, Dad brought me here, and I fell in love with their food—especially the dessert menu. We went nearly every night during my visit. My stomach grumbles as I think about their decadent red velvet cake with mouth-watering cream cheese frosting.

I grab a seat on the patio, wanting to take advantage of the unseasonably warm mid-October weather. I peruse the menu while I wait for my dad to arrive, as if I don’t already know I’m going to order the chicken parmesan and kale caesar salad.

He’s only a few minutes late, which I consider impressive. I stand as he approaches the table and give him a tight squeeze, noticing the hunter who followed me is leaving now that my dad is here.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, kissing the side of my head.

“Hey, Dad.” We pull back, and I shoot him a sympathetic smile. “Just another boring day at the office, huh?”

He chuckles as he takes a seat. “Something like that.”

I’m afraid to ask, but the words leave my lips, anyway. “Do you have to go back after this?”

He frowns, and I have my answer.

I nod. “I figured as much.”

The waiter comes over to take our order. After he walks away, Dad says, “Noah told me you two spent some time together yesterday.”

“Yes, your golden boy took your daughter axe throwing,” I say in a light tone, gasping dramatically.

His brows lift. “I’m surprised he gave you a sharp object.”

I roll my eyes at Dad’s teasing tone, though I can’t argue with that. “It was actually really fun. And he was, surprisingly, not the most annoying he’s ever been.”

The waiter stops by with our drinks, and Dad takes a sip of his beer before saying, “There was a time you viewed Noah as a god.”

I swallow a mouthful of my whiskey sour. “Yeah, and then I grew up and realized how full of himself he is.”

“He’s very talented at what he does.”

“That’s great,” I mutter, because I know. I’ve known for as long as I can remember. Most hunters aspire to be Noah. He doesn’t needmorepraise. His head is giant enough already.

Dad checks his phone, cursing under his breath before catching himself, glancing over at me and apologizing.

“What’s up?”

“There’s been another attack. This one is in Brooklyn.”

My brows knit, the knots that seem to live in my stomach these days pulling tighter. “Do you have to go?”

He types quickly on his phone for a few seconds. “It doesn’t appear so. Not immediately, at least.”

---