My mind spins in circles as I try to reconcile the fact that this stranger is not such a stranger after all.
Dear lord.
I don’t know whether to be relieved, confused, or evenmoreembarrassed than I was before to learn that the man who’s come to my rescue isn’t some altruistic law enforcement official or chivalrous crime-fighting good samaritan intent on keeping Somerville’s streets safe…
Nope.
He’s a man I’ve met before.
A man whose path I crossed mere weeks ago.
Hewas the freaking mystery guest I spotted at the wedding! The one whose dark blue eyes I kept trying to catch during slow songs, when all my friends were paired off with their men. The one I couldn’t seem to tear my stare away from, even after he almost caught me looking.
Twice.
(Thankfully, he seemed totally oblivious to my attention.)
True, I was drunk on champagne at the time… but I distinctly remember him standing by the bar, sipping a low-ball glass of whiskey and chatting with several of the badasses who work for Nate at Knox Investigations. No amount of alcohol would be enough to forget those blue-black eyes.
The same eyes that are now fixed on me, unblinking and rife with intensity.
“You’re Nate’s friend,” I say, still staring at him. I have a feeling my cheeks are the color of the doomed tomatoes I bought yesterday morning. “The cop.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny my words. He just stares at me, jaw working with tension, muscles straining against his black v-neck. It’s a bit unnerving.
“Well?” I ask, brows raised. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Whether or not we occasionally run in the same social circles doesn’t concern me,” he mutters, shoving a hand through his messy black hair. “We’re leaving.”
“We?”
“You. Me.We.” His brows lift. “If I talk any slower, we’ll be going backwards here, Hunt.”
“If you think I’m going anywhere with you, you are sorely mistaken, mister!”
He blinks at me.
“I mean… Officer. Constable. Deputy. All due respect intended. Obviously.” I bite my lip in the vain hope it might shut me up.
He’s doing that empty-eyed stare again — the one that simultaneously says so much and so little.
“Please don’t cuff me. Uncontrollable rambling is a plague, not a punishable offense,” I joke lamely, trying to lighten the mood.
I think I see a flash of humor in his eyes, but they cut away from me too fast to be certain — straight out the window, toward the street. His posture is still tense, as though he’s on high alert for the arrival of an impending threat.
“Look…” I haul in a breath and strive for civility. “I don’t know you. Generally, I’d be inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt despite that fact, seeing as you’re a friend of a friend… and you just so happen to have saved my ass from certain death by duct tape. But you’re not giving me a lot to go on, here. You do realize that, right?”
His only response is the slight shift of his shoulder muscles beneath the fabric of his t-shirt.
I swallow a frustrated scream. “All I’m saying is, a little insight would be nice. You know, seeing as my whole world has flipped upside down in the past twelve hours and I’m not even remotely sure how or why you’re connected to all of this. But clearly you know more than you’re saying — which, for the record, isnothing— so it would be really freaking great if you could fill me in. If you do, I promise I’ll stop rambling and leave you alone. Possibly forever. Because I’ll likely be dead at the hands of two enormous thugs when they inevitably track me down again.”
He glances back at me. “If I thought you’d actually shut up for more than thirty seconds, I might just take you up on that trade, Hunt.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Duly noted.” His tone is flat. “You ready to leave?”
“You can’t be serious.”