Page 66

I wasn’t used to drinking so early in the morning. Rather, I wasn’t used to stopping drinking so early in the morning. If I were going to start something like morning drinking, it usually ended in a bender. Concluding with me in the bed of some nameless guy who could give me an orgasm at best or an STD scare at worst.

But Shay was not the bender type, and she informed me she had work to do when we’d finished eating, and I was on my fourth Bloody Mary. Which reminded me of all the work I had to do. Which I’d done while drunk. Looking up everything I could on Angela—which was honestly more than I wanted to know. I’d been planning on casing out her apartment after downing four painkillers and two cups of coffee.

Now Dante was at my doorstep, coffee in hand—the only reason I didn’t slam the door in his face.

Dante stared at me, or more accurately, at my black eye, for several long heartbeats. I waited for him to ask questions, or worse, act protective. His jaw only tightened for a second before his expression cleared.

“A child is missing,” Dante told me, shouldering his way inside before handing me the Styrofoam cup.

I sipped from it, wincing at the burn but reveling in the taste of whiskey he’d obviously spiked it with.

“Well, they should activate its collar or something,” I replied to his back as he walked to the kitchen.

I wondered why he avoided the living room, with the more comfortable and convenient seating options.

Did he know this was the crime scene? Was he being thoughtful about my feelings?

No, he just wanted to rummage through the fridge.

He pulled out Tupperware, giving it a sniff before helping himself to a fork and eating.

“Why are you here, eating my food?” I groaned.

“Missing kid,” he said through a mouthful.

“The parents should’ve kept better track of it,” I glared at him. “Not my problem.”

It sounded callus. It was. And it was forced. I wasn’t a complete asshole. The prospect of a missing kid and the chances it was taken by some fucking sicko who would have his way—wasn’t it always a man?—and either kill it or leave it to live with unhealing scars for the rest of its life was sickening to me. But I was already buried beneath all the horrors supernatural creatures could wreak upon children. I didn’t need to worry about what humans could do too.

That wasn’t my job.

“Good to see you’ve got such a soft heart, Harris,” Dante scoffed.

“Soft hearts stop beating fast in our business.” I drank more of my coffee, watching him. “You know that better than anyone, since yours is probably made of coal.”

“You wound me,” he teased. “And I’ve got a little softness left in me.” He swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Enough to bother your time with a lost kid? Go for it.” I flapped my wrist dismissively. That would keep him off my ass.

His eyes twinkled as he regarded me. Was this man ever in a bad mood? “So eager to get rid of me?”

“Yes, I’m fucking desperate to get rid of you. I’m sorry if I hadn’t made that clear.” I rummaged through my purse for a bottle of painkillers, shaking them into my palm then swallowing them with another gulp of the coffee.

Dante’s hazelnut eyes scanned my body, alight with a fire that reminded me of the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body, and the hard length he was packing between his legs.

“You sure you want to get rid of me, Hadley?” His voice was liquid sex.

“Sure,” I bit it out, ignoring the way my toes curled in my boots at the simple look he gave me. My fingers itched with the insane urge to grip the sides of his leather jacket and force his mouth to mine.

I needed to get laid.

Not by Dante. Even if his lips did promise he was talented in the oral department. Even if his presence made my heart race and something deep inside me relax with his nearness. Perhaps it was the awareness that I wasn’t alone in this whole fucking shitshow.

Man, I must’ve been drunker than I realized if I thought Dante was the cure to my loneliness.

“Then your opinion wouldn’t change if I told you it’s been seven years to the day that seven children went missing over the span of a month in this county and surrounding areas, never to be seen again?” He spoke blandly, as if my panties weren’t damp from his proximity.

My interest piqued, though I didn’t let that show. “Coincidence.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Serial killer, pedophile with restraint, bad parenting.”