Page 24 of Property of Bones

“Just because I’m wearing this cut with the club’s name doesn’t mean I belong to them,” he says, voice deadly calm. “Maybe I killed the real Foster. Stole his shit. Followed Bones to find you. Killedhim, and now I’m here to finish the job.”

I stare at him.

He stares right back.

Okay, this guy definitely doesn’t do lighthearted.

“That was alotof plot for one sentence,” I say slowly. “Have you considered therapy? Or maybe fewer late-night crime documentaries?”

Still no smile. He’s the human equivalent of a bunker wall. Almost as intense as Jack…almost.

“Point is,” he says, finally breaking the silence, “don’t let a man’s vest make you forget he’s still a man. Not everyone deserves your sunshine.”

I suddenly feel a little bit shaken.

“Are you?” I ask, my voice not as steady as I’d like it to be. “Here to kill me?”

“No, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “I’m here to protect you. But my point still stands. Now go inside. It’s chilly out here.”

I know deep in my gut that this man isn’t moving. He’s planted himself outside my door and will remain there until he’s ready to leave. I could argue all night, but I’m not going to win.

So, I do the only thing Icando.

I sigh, turn on my heel, and go inside. I slam the door for emphasis, but it’s mostly for me. Because if I can’t chase the guard dog off my porch, then I might as well feed it.

Ten minutes later, I step back outside with a plate and a bottle of water. He’s exactly where I left him, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place, like he’s posing for a “Don’t talk to me” poster.

“Here,” I say, holding the plate out like a peace offering. “Turkey sandwich. Extra mustard. It felt like a mustard kindof night. And water because you strike me as the broodingly hydrated type.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Cool. Then it’ll sit here until you either eat it or let it rot and feel guilty for wasting food while starving children exist.”

He grunts and accepts the plate…which I take as a thank you.

I lean against the wall next to him, not too close, not too far, mimicking his whole tough-guy stance in the most dramatically awkward way possible. “You know, when Jack’s the one doing this whole protective shadow-dance thing, I never actuallyseehim.”

Foster doesn’t answer, so I keep going.

“He’s never close enough for me to catch. Like some kind of emotionally damaged Batman.”

Another grunt. A chew this time.Sandwich: 1, Grim Reaper vibes: 0.

“But I always know he’s there,” I continue, glancing at him. “It’s a vibe. Like the air gets ten percent more intense and at least fifteen percent more sexy-dangerous.”

Foster chokes slightly on his sandwich.

I nod. “Exactly. So, ifhecan lurk in the shadows and protect me from a distance, I feel likeyoucan do the same… with a snack.”

“Bones said to stay close,” he mutters through a mouthful of turkey.

“Well then,” I shrug, “good thing I didn’t poison that.”

He finally looks at me, really looks at me, and there’s just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, but maybe the prequel.

“You’re a strange girl.”

“Compliment accepted,” I chirp. “Enjoy the sandwich. Try not to scare my neighbors. And if youdokill me, I hope you at least feel bad about it.”

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