Page 37 of Nocturne

“Right. But you’re still detecting stuff, aren’t you?”

He gives me a faint smile. “I suppose.”

“So? Did you always want to be a detective?”

“In a way. My adoptive father was a cop—probably influenced me more than I realized.” He adjusts himself in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “Always liked solving puzzles, figuring out why people do what they do.”

“Your adoptive father,” I repeat, curious. “Did you ever look for your birth parents?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. “Not seriously. Why?”

“Just curious.” I shrug. “Some people are driven to know where they came from.”

“The Callahans were good people. Gave me everything I needed.” He says it matter-of-factly, but I sense there’s more beneath the surface. “Though my father did mention once that the adoption agency said my birth parents had some rare medical condition. Nothing serious or contagious, just unusual. That’s why they gave me up.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“No details.” He gives me a curious look. “Why the interest in my family history?”

“Just trying to understand you better,” I say, which is true enough. “You know quite a bit about me from your investigation. Seems fair I should know something about you too.”

He acknowledges this with a slight nod. “Right. Well. I became a PI after the war because I needed work that kept me busy. Kept me from thinking too much. The blackouts, the insomnia—it’s probably just all that catching up with me finally.”

“Maybe,” I say, though I’m not convinced. There’s something about Callahan that doesn’t fit neatly into the box oftraumatized war veteran.

Our eyes lock, and the air between us seems to thicken. I’m suddenly, intensely aware of his proximity, of the strong line of his jaw, of his mouth that looks both hard and soft at once. My breath hitches at the thought of it on my lips, of the heat flaring in my core, of this current of need and want that seems to build from within. He leans forward slightly, and I find myself mirroring the movement, drawn by something beyond physical attraction.

Is this fate?I can’t help but think as I find myself sliding toward him, my thoughts feeling muddy, my body seeming to move on its own accord.Is this inescapable?

The jarring ring of the telephone shatters the moment. My heart nearly jumps out of my skin.

Callahan hesitates, his nostrils flaring for a moment as his blue gaze locks on mine, then rises to answer it. “Callahan,” he says tersely. “Hello? Hello?”

He holds the phone away from his ear and seems to think. Then he presses down on the depressor before he dials zero and brings the phone back to his ear. “Yes, operator. The number that just called, there was no one on the line. Did they say anything to you? I’m afraid it could have been an emergency.” He pauses. “Oh? Alright. Thank you.”

He hangs up the phone and looks at me. “There was no one there. The operator said it was a male voice with an accent.”

I can’t help but yawn, the tension from earlier dissipating. “It’s the middle of the night. Maybe someone gave him the wrong number.”

He cocks a brow as if to say,do you believe that?

Of course, I don’t. But right now, I want to. Better than to think someone was following us. A lot of Marco and Cohen’s boys have accents. So doEuropeans. Not sure which idea I like better.

“I think it’s best you get some shut-eye,” he says to me, gesturing to the couch while reaching for a cigarette.

“I don’t need to sleep,” I tell him. It helps us reset, it makes us feel better, but vampires can go indefinitely without it.

“Sure you do,” he says, his voice becoming gentler. He looks me over as he lights his cigarette, the flame igniting his eyes, making him look otherworldly for a moment. In that same moment I feel an inkling of fear, a creeping sensation at the base of my skull. The way he looks at me sometimes…

“Or don’t,” he says with a frown. “You alright?”

I give my head a small shake. No. Obviously not. One minute I’m listening to Callahan talk about his dead wife and war trauma, the next I’m afraid I might kiss him, and in the next I’m inexplicably afraid of him.

Maybe I do need sleep.

He takes a few steps over to me and stares down. Reaches for my chin and places his fingers under it, lifting my face up to meet his. A second stretches into infinity, the rough feel of his fingertips against my ageless skin seems to ignite something deep inside me, mixing together fear and lust into something potent.

I swallow uneasily but I keep his gaze.

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