“No.”
“Been watching you six months, never seen you blush before. Call me intrigued.”
“They never found the bodies!” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it. “You don’t think his gardens are so gorgeous because… he’s using some extra special… fertilizer…” I wince. “Gives a whole new dimension to the concept ofcommunity farming, doesn’t it?”
“You really have watched every episode ofLaw and Order, haven’t you?” He shakes his head at me, eyes glittering with humor. “That’s dark, Hunt. Seriously dark.”
“I am not dark!” I scoff. “I’m a rainbow of kittens and unicorns!”
“And I’m the fucking Tooth Fairy,” he says flatly. “Now, can we get back to the important shit? Namely, the fact that your neighborhood — cat killers and sex addicts aside — is no longer a viable option for you to return to.”
I bite my lip. Honestly, after everything he’s just told me, I’m in no race to get back home.
Who knew my neighbors were such freaks?!
Still, the thought of staying here — in a holding cell, at the mercy of federal government officials who may or may not have my best interests at heart, seeing as they suspect I may be an accomplice in my husband’s unsavory activities — isn’t one I’m eager to entertain.
You have to understand — normally, in a situation like this, I’d call my friend Phoebe. Her husband Nate runs Knox Investigations, the best private security firm in Boston. Nate’s boys have helped out in the past whenever any of my friends have run into trouble, whether it’s a scheming cousin, dangerous car chase, school of loan sharks, or hostage situation. There’s no doubt in my mind they’d be able to keep me safe from anyone on this earth — even Russian mafia members intent on revenge.
Regrettably, Nate and Phoebe are currently off on their honeymoon, soaking up the sunshine on a beach in the South Pacific. And I’m not about to call them and ruin their happily ever after. No freaking way.
Which means… I’m on my own.
Well… except for a blue-eyed special agent who seems to enjoy pissing me off to no end.
“You know I’m right,” Conor interjects on my thoughts with impeccable timing. “You can’t walk out of here and go back to living your life like nothing has changed.”
“Well if you think I’m stayinghere, you’re insane.”
“Not here. We’ll set you up in a safe house. Somewhere off the grid where you can hide out until we track down your husband.”
“If I trusted you — which, for the record, I don’t — I might consider that offer. As it stands, I think I’d rather take my chances with the Russian mobsters.”
“Hunt, don’t be pigheaded.”
“Are federal agents supposed to insult civilians?”
“Technically, you’re still a person of interest.”
“Oh, give me a break. We all know I don’t have jack-shit to do with Paul’s foreign interludes. If I did, I wouldn’t have wound up tied to my damn dining room furniture yesterday and I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now, chatting with you.”
“In all this debriefing, did you somehow miss the part about bad men being after you?”
“Didyoumiss the part about me not trusting you?”
We glare at each other across the table. My blood is boiling over with rage. Rage and something else. Something I’ve decided not to acknowledge, for the time being, because the thought that I might be feeling anything other than pure, absolute loathing for Conor Asshole Gallagher is too absurd to contemplate.
You hate him, my inner voice reminds me as our gazes clash like swords on a battlefield.He’s gruff and grumpy. And bossy. And not at all hot when he pins you to the spot with those mega-blue eyes, like he’s looking straight down into your soul.
We’re so tangled up in each other, neither of us notices Sykes has entered the room again until she clears her throat gently. Our heads both snap in her direction. The look on her face is a mix of speculation and amusement as she sets a thick binder on the table.
“If you two are finished bickering… I have the books for Shelby to look through. And I also have an idea that might work for everyone…”
* * *
“Absolutely not.”
“Gallagher.”