The venetian blinds parted, as if Jo had heard the talking. And as Syn caught sight of the dark outline of her head and hair, his heart stopped. And redoubled.
He looked down again at the dagger in his palm and considered the way his body had taken things, literally, into its own hand. As he thought about the fact that he had armed himself, and was ready to go against an ally—and someone who would absolutely, positively be missed? And who absolutely, positively hadn’t done shit to Syn?
It was clear what was going on.
Fuck.
He’d bonded with Jo.
Jo let the blinds on her window fall back into place. Stepping away, she put her hands up to her head. As her heart pounded, she thought about calling 911, but what was she going to say?
Help, there’s someone talking right outside my bedroom. At least, I think they are. At least . . . I think I heard a male voice.
It wasn’t an emergency to hear whispers. More to the point, it wasn’t an emergency to think you heard whispers.
Sure, ma’am, we’ll send someone out with a flashlight to do a perimeter search. All those people who’ve been in car accidents with drunk drivers or the victims of crime can wait.
Going out into the living area, she walked to the main door of her apartment and back. Even though it was after midnight, she was fully dressed, with her coat on. She had been putting on her ground-grippers, as she called her boots, when the low-level noise had registered.
Her backpack was right by the exit. And hey, there was a flashlight in it.
Plus her gun.
“Screw it,” she muttered.
Going over, she double-strapped things and locked her apartment up as she left. At the building’s outer door by the mailboxes, she hesitated again, trying to see into the pitch-black night beyond the security lights while her breath fogged up the glass.
Even though she was paranoid about so much, she’d planned to go out anyway. She was exhausted, but antsy, and there was no amount of Netflixing that was going to chill her out. It was like she was a car with the gas and the brake on at the same time. So she’d already decided on a destination when she’d heard the murmurs outside her bedroom.
No doubt it was best to not go look into them. She needed to stick to her plan—which had not included playing welcome committee to someone sent by the Caldwell mob to kill her.
Cursing again, she shoved open the door, ducked down, and scrambled for her car, wondering if she shouldn’t be crossing the lawn in a zigzag pattern so she was a harder target. As she came up to the driver’s side, her body was shaking.
And yet she stopped.
Looking over her shoulder, she searched the darkness beside her building.
“Syn?”
It better be Syn, she thought. Or she was a sitting duck for someone who—
“I’m not stalking you,” came a familiar voice out of the shadows. “I swear.”
“Oh, thank God, it’s you.” Jo sagged against her car. “I was . . . well, never mind.”
And actually, she’d expected to see him earlier. She’d thought he might be waiting for her in the parking lot again as she’d left the newsroom. Then she’d anticipated the ring of her doorbell at any moment as soon as she’d gotten home: through her after-work shower, through dinner—Slim Jims and M&Ms, mmm tasty—through the debate on whether to get into bed or get out of the apartment.
And now he was here.
Syn walked forward, emerging into the illumination thrown by the light fixture mounted on the corner of the building. As he came over to her, her eyes were greedy and so were her hands. She indulged the former. Kept the latter to herself.
“Hi,” she said as she stared up at him.
“Hi.”
There was a long silence. And then she grabbed his arm and gave it a shake. “Before we say anything else, what’s your phone number? And I promise, this time, I will remember it.”
When he didn’t start spitting out digits, she frowned. Then she closed her eyes.
“Right,” she said with defeat. “So you’ve come to tell me that last night was a mistake that should never have happened because you’re married.”
“What?”
“I gotta go.” She turned back to her car door. “Take care of yourself—”
Now he was the one detaining her, his big hand landing on her shoulder. “Where are you going? It’s late—”