I’d not experienced much of it myself. Peace, that is. I’d been a lot of things throughout my life — adaptive, mainly, but also anxious, paranoid, detached… and unsettled. I hated that last one.
Unsettled.
Uncomfortable.
Unable to relax.
Take your pick, they all applied.
Most people thought the opposite of peace was war. (Looking at you, Tolstoy.) It wasn’t. It wasparanoia. Constant vigilance. The perpetual brace for the hurt you knew was coming, the moment you dared let your guard down.
So you simply never did.
You walked through life with your dukes up, ready to punch.
No sudden moves, buster. I know you’re coming. That betrayal you’re planning? I’m expecting it. That lie you told me? I already considered it, along with twelve other possible cock-and-bull fabrications you might come up with. That knife you’re ready to plunge into my back? Honey, it’s already in my hand. I’ve been holding it for weeks.
I expected the hits before they even manifested as possibilities in the minds of my opponents, let alone landed on me. But that hyper-vigilance came at a cost. And that cost was my peace.
I envied Cade Hightower in that moment for finding his. I also wanted to wrap all my limbs around him and soak it in like a sponge, as if such tranquility could be transfused by osmosis. Before I could act on such a ridiculous notion, I forced myself to look away from his reposed profile.
Several college kids were LARPing on the grass not far from us, their fake swords swinging through air, chain metal clanking, medieval chatter an oddly incongruous background track to the modern setting.
“You planning on finishing that?”
I glanced over at Cade when he spoke. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but his eyes were slivered open, staring into mine. The way the dappled light played across his chiseled features was so gorgeous, it made my heart ache.
“All yours.” I handed him the remaining quarter of my lunch, which he promptly devoured in a single bite. My lips twisted as I watched him chew. “Now I know why you insisted on the footlong.”
He grinned. “Ever considered a career as a detective?”
“Apparently, I already have a new career as a part-time psychic. Thanks to you.”
“What’s with the tone? You were searching for a job. Now you’ve got one. I figured you’d be happy.”
“Happy?” I blinked, mystified — which, it must be said, had been my primary cognitive state since arriving in Salem, Massachusetts. The idea of ever being happy was so far out of my reach, I couldn’t even process it. “Relieved might be more accurate. I have car repairs to pay for, after all.”
“I told you?—”
“So help me god, Detective, if you say something ridiculous about it beingcoveredor the mechanicowing you a favorI will ask those LARPers to come over here and stab you with their fake swords.” I paused. “You might not die, but you will definitely be embarrassed in front of all these lovely people in the park.”
He laughed — a full-out, no-holds-barred laugh that made a shot of heat furl from my stomach downward to… places better left unspoken.
“You know, it’s probably not wise to threaten the life of a police officer. Especially not to his face.”
I thought about that for a beat, then shrugged. “I’ll risk it.”
He chuckled again, then closed his eyes. His posture was entirely relaxed as the sun beat down. The breeze tousled his thick hair like errant fingers. I stared at the silver streaks by his temples, thinking another man might not be able to pull off the silver fox look quite so well.
“Can I ask you something?”
His reply was instant. “You can ask me anything. Open book, remember?”
Oh, I remembered. “What’s Gravewatch?”
“Graham Graves is a private investigator. A damn good one, too. He has his own consultancy firm, contracts out with all sorts of law enforcement up and down the eastern seaboard. Local departments, federal cases, private gigs… You name it, his boys do it.”
“His… boys?”