“Showing you how easy it is for someone to get to you if they want to,” he gritted out between clenched teeth, his rage a perfect match for mine. “I thought you needed a more effective demonstration, since me telling you with words didn’t make much of an impact.”
“What?!”
“It seems our earlier conversation didn’t stick. You know, the one where I told you to stay away from the mess with Zelda? Where I warned you Mickey O'Banion was a dangerous guy?”
Oh, shit.
I swallowed hard. “Um…”
“Did you listen to me? Of course not. You never fucking listen.” He leaned in, so our faces were even closer. “What did you do? You marched your pert little ass straight into the middle of the chaos and took a seat at the table.”
My voice was a half-screech. “So, you wanted to teach me a lesson by breaking into my house in the middle of the night?!”
“I didn’t break in. I have a key.”
“You have a key?” I blinked, stunned. “How the hell do you have a key to my house?”
“I made a copy.”
“When?”
He merely stared at me, refusing to answer.
Rude!
I scowled up at him, still burning with anger. “I thought you were a rapist or an axe-murderer! You scared me half to death, you asshole!”
“Good,” he clipped. “I want you scared. If you’re scared, maybe you’ll start taking your safety seriously.” His nostrils flared on a sharp, furious exhale. “You put yourself at risk this morning. Not only that, you put Florence at risk. What were you planning to tell Desmond when his girlfriend came back from a playdate with you full of bullets?”
“We weren’t hurt!”
“You were lucky. That’s all. Lucky my men were keeping tabs on your location, lucky the fake psychic is such a crap shot, lucky O'Banion didn’t see you when he made it into that apartment.”
His men.
I guess that explained the tall, dark, handsome stranger who’d watched our every move, and the one who’d raced headlong toward the firefight. Graham probably got a full report about our hectic escape from the scene of the crime as soon as we were out of sight. Goddess, he really was like the Eye of Sauron. He knew everything.
“Is Zelda okay?” I asked tentatively.
“She emptied her full clip when O'Banion burst through her front door, shot him in the shoulder. Barely a flesh wound, but enough to buy her some time to slip away. Mickey was…”
“Pissed?”
“Pissed doesn’t cover it.”
“Then Zelda’s okay?”
“Mentally? Nothing isokayabout that old quack. Physically, I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Did she leave Hecate behind?”
He stared down at me blankly.
“Her familiar.”
The blank stare continued.
I sighed. “The parrot.”