“I don’t know,” she replied. “I didn’t see him clearly.”
I slammed my fist down on the counter, my stability fracturing with every second that passed. “He said he was collecting a parcel. I need to know—”
“Orson Aldworth.”
Wilder spoke so quietly, I almost missed the soft words. “Who?”
He had a crisp white business card in his hand which he held out to me. I took it, the paper rough and thick like it had come from the 19thcentury. Fucking vampires. So stuck in the damn past. It had his name printed in thick black letters and on the back, he’d written the words:
Trust me. I can explain.
Shit. He’d moved quickly, managed to write somethingandput it in Wilder’s hand before leaving. This was no ordinary vampire. To be that speedy, he was either as old as fucking dirt or a master vampire.
“What kind of name is Orson Aldworth?” Wilder asked, followed by a brittle laugh.
“An old one.” I returned to Wilder and cupped his jaw in my hands. His eyes were distant and his shoulders sagged. I didn’t like that one bit. “What do you remember about him?”
He gripped his bottom lip between his teeth. “Not much. I just remember seeing him behind the window. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences, baby. This seems fishy.”
“Fishy?” A small smile crept around the corner of his mouth, and I breathed a little easier.
“Yes. ‘Fishy’ is the perfect word here.”
“Byron, you’re fucking weird,” Astrid piped up from behind her little counter.
“So people keep telling me.” I took Wilder’s parcel from Astrid. “Thank you for this. I need to do a stock check, but I’ll send you a list soon.”
She scoffed. “You’ll be lucky if you get any of it after what you did to Wilder.”
I grinned. “I know you don’t really mean that, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Astrid flicked me her middle finger and then held out a small package wrapped in brown paper. “Oh, this was left for Wilder as well.”
I eyed it warily. “By whom?”
“That sexy guy who keeps popping in,” she replied with a shy smile. “He asked whether I knew you, obviously I didn’t say that I did, but he must have sensed something because after he left, I found this on my counter. He’s the only who could have left it.”
“Does the sexy guy have a name?” I didn’t like the sound of this. At all.
She giggled. “Oh, you know me. I’m terrible with names. It takes me a few years to cement them. It was Liam or Luther or Lawson or—”
“Lawler?” I hissed.
She snapped her fingers and grinned. “Yep. That’s it.”
“Stay away from him,” I snarled.
Her face dropped. “Why?”
“That’s my father,” Wilder said, his voice choked.
“Oh, shit,” Astrid gasped.
Oh, shit indeed.
Chapter Eighteen