his belly, then whirled to regard the new hole in the brick wall behind him. “You shot me!” he yelled, also incensed.
“And I’ll do it again, you meddlesome little pansy!” Grif waved the snub-nose in their direction. “Get out of here, both of ya!”
But Jesse didn’t know when to stop.
“Know what your problem is?” he yelled, hands on hips, parachute pants flaring wide.
Grif shot him again.
Jesse didn’t flinch this time, pointing at Grif instead. “You’re straddling worlds, bro!”
“I ain’t your bro.” Grif aimed.
“Oh, save your bullets,” Jesse scoffed, fully recovered now. “You don’t belong to the Everlast or on the mudflat anymore. You don’t belong anywhere.”
“Get out of here, Jesse,” Grif said in a low voice. “Cuz you and I aren’t always gonna be on opposite sides of the great divide.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jesse waved him off, turning away. “See if I ever help you again.”
He turned his back on Grif and pulled open the pawnshop door, motioning for Mei to follow him into the yawning maw of the Universe. Recovered from her mortal scare, she paused to regard Grif with a hard, cold eye.
“Jesse told me that the longer you wear flesh, the more you remember. Be wary of that, Mr. Shaw. Memories are stronger than we think. You’ll want to find out who killed you, do it quickly, and leave.”
“Why should I?” he huffed.
“For the woman you love, of course,” she said, and Grif wasn’t sure if she meant Evie or Kit. Mei knew it and smiled. “Katherine Craig is totally alive in the moment, Mr. Shaw. But you are completely lost in the past.” And with a swish of her dark hair, she followed Jesse through the doorway, into the cosmos, and Grif was again alone.
Chapter Thirteen
Kit couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so poorly. She’d drifted off around three-thirty, when it became clear that Grif, for whatever reason, wasn’t coming home. She’d woken to the sounds of her paperwork on the Marielitos tumbling to the floor, around five. Unable to fall back asleep, she decamped to the living room, where she settled in to work through the sunrise. Having dozed, she was startled to awareness by the thump of the paper on her doorstep just before six, and had been awake ever since.
At least it was Sunday, she thought, sipping her first cup of coffee. She was curled up on her modular velvet sofa, wearing a white cotton nightgown identical to the one Audrey Hepburn wore in Roman Holiday, with a steaming mug at her side and chenille throw over her knees. The paper lay in front of her, and her computer hummed on her lap. She kept her eyes glued to it even when she heard the door open . . . even as the alarm she knew was set remained silent. She looked up only when Grif remained at her periphery, lingering uncertainly in the foyer.
“You finally made it home.” She winced inwardly, hoping she didn’t sound like a nag. Or worse, needy.
But Grif only inclined his head. “I had some things I needed to work out.”
And he couldn’t be in two places at once, Kit thought, looking away.
“I’m sorry, Kit.” When she still said nothing, he lifted his fedora, ran a hand over his head, and sighed. “My head is . . . screwy.”
“I . . .” She wanted to say “I understand,” or “It’s okay,” or “It doesn’t matter,” as she always had before, but none of that was true. He’d left her alone to wonder and worry while he was out chasing memories of another woman, and they both knew it.
“I know,” Kit finally said.
Edging over, he sat on the sofa beside her, elbows on his knees as he toyed with his stingy brim. “The hat works.”
Despite the lingering low-grade tension, a smile slipped onto Kit’s lips. “It beeped?”
“And how.”
Now a true grin bloomed. So she had been with him, then. In a way. “You wore it.”
“I wore it,” he confirmed, edging closer so that their hips touched. He tilted his head, eyes meeting hers. “And found my way back.”
He leaned over and kissed her then, and the tension she carried all through the long night slid from her shoulders. It wasn’t a kiss you gave to someone in second place. It wasn’t flavored with distraction or misplaced emotion. His mouth claimed hers like he was taking ownership, and making up for the empty night. His lips firmed like she was his hunger, then softened like she was also his need.