Page 27 of Mystic Justice
‘You didn’t need to drive me,’ I mumbled for the third time, but despite my half-hearted protests I was grateful for Krieg’s chauffeuring. I was too tired to drive, an accident waiting to happen.
I thought of Kate, who’d driven off alone. She’d already messaged to say she was home and already tucked up into bed; no doubt, she’d crash out instantly. Whatever those runes did, it wasn’t anything good. Her exhaustion had been palpable.
‘And miss your mother’s cooking?’ Krieg replied lightly. He parked the car. Before I could complain, he was outside holding my door open for me like a real gentleman.
I stared at the High King of the Ogres – the deadliest man in most rooms – in total bafflement. ‘Whoareyou?’
His lips curled a little. ‘You’ll have to find out.’
Damned if I didn’t want to.
Loki flew to my shoulder and, just when I thought he was finally making friends with me again, he lifted his tail and pooped on my shoulder. I gaped at him. ‘More poo? Do you have digestive issues?’ I demanded.
‘Rage issues, more like,’ Krieg commented, fixing the bird with a warning glare.
Loki looked smug. Point made, he flew into the air and went over to my mum when she opened the door. ‘Polly!’ he shrieked. ‘Poor starved Loki!’
I saw the smile in my mother’s eyes before she put on a suitably serious expression. ‘Is that daughter of mine not feeding you enough? That’s unacceptable! Come on in, Loki!’ she crooned. He flapped inside and she looked out at Krieg and me, eyes still laughing. ‘I love that bird.’ She bowed to Krieg. ‘A pleasure to see you again, Your Excellence.’
He winced, took her hand and in all seriousness said, ‘Robbie,please.’ What was surprising was the level of entreaty in his voice. He reallydidwant to be Robbie here. I wondered suddenly if anyone else called him Robbie.
He’d told me once that Hanlon and Maktel weren’t his friends; if that were true, did he have anyone? His mother had died in childbirth and his father had died when he was young. He’d saidIdidn’t have friends, but maybe he was projecting: maybe he was the one who was friendless. I suspected that Krieg was very much alone in this world and the thought gave my heart a hard twist. Alone was a shitty place to be. I knew it well.
Mum’s eyes swept over me disapprovingly. ‘Uniform, Stacy? Really?’ She sighed loudly. She hated all reminders of the Connection, hated that I’d followed in my father’s footsteps and became an Inspector for the organisation that she blamed for Dad’s death. He’d died in the line of duty and she constantly feared the same for me. I didn’t like making her worry, but you could only live your life for you.
Besides, if I was going to solve Dad’s cold case one day I’d need the Connection’s resources and know-how .
‘I have spare clothes for her—’ Krieg started.
‘No,’ I interrupted firmly. ‘I’m here. I’m hungry. You can cope with my wardrobe choices, Mum, or I can go home.’
Mum grimaced, but let me in, uniform and all.
We were late so the table was full when we strolled in. Grant and Jules were on one side, and Rupert and Ava were on the other. We all looked at the one remaining seat. ‘I’ll get a chair for Robbie,’ Mum said hastily.
‘Not at all,’ Krieg said smoothly. ‘I’ll carry it in, just direct me to the correct location.’
At times, he sounded so stiff and formal like he’d swallowed a dictionary. He wasn’t one to shy away from sesquipedalianism either, and I admired that about him. I suspected it had evolved because people expected ogres to grunt monosyllabically and he loved nothing more than defying their expectations – though he leaned into their stereotypes when it suited him.
He was a man who wore many hats. I wondered if I’d even begun to scratch his surface. Somehow, I didn’t think so.
I moved my plate and cutlery to make space for Krieg to sit next to me at the head of the table opposite Mum. Moments later he carried in a kitchen stool and perched next to me. Mum flapped in after him carrying a plate and knives and forks for him, then served us both from the dishes on the table: caprese salad, lamb kebabs, couscous and a Greek salad. Perfect summer-weather food.
I dug in without hesitation. Our afternoon tea felt like it had been a century ago.
Krieg and I were so close that our arms touched as we ate, making my skin hum with his proximity. I’d been suppressing my attraction to him all day in favour of focusing on my job, but now I was off the clock I could let myself look at him, let my eyes linger on those big hands. I had a thing about a guy’s hands, and I hated when they were skinny and manicured; give me a labourer’s hands over a pianist’s any day of the week. And Krieghad labourer’s hands, skin that was rough and used, that would scrape over my skin in the very best way.
‘Still haven’t shagged,’ Julian noted into the quiet.
I glared at my brother and kicked him under the table. ‘Ow!’ Grant protested. ‘That was me, Stacy!’
‘Sorry.’ I grimaced then looked under the table. Grant had slipped his feet out of his shoes and was playing footsy with Jules under the table. ‘If you’d keep your feet to yourself, you wouldn’t have got involved,’ I defended myself. ‘Who plays footsy at the table?’
Grant snorted. ‘Please! You and Krieg are playing handsy! That’s worse. Ours is secret.’ He paused. ‘Well, it was until you announced it to the whole table.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ Ava chimed in, grinning. ‘I think it’s sweet that you still can’t keep your hands off each other – er, yourfeet– after being together for five years.’
‘Six, actually,’ Jules corrected with a smug look at his husband.
