A shadow suddenly fell over her desk. Glancing up, her pulse raced when she saw him standing right there. How the hell… A mere moment ago he was in his office. Shit, he moved fast.
“Any luck with contacting the families?” he rapped out.
“Sophie Hamilton’s mom said their daughter is dead to them since she went to Motham, then slammed the phone down on me. The other two haven’t answered my calls—maybe they can see it’s a Motham number. Jo, that’s Natalie’s mom, wants to see me, but she has already told me a fair bit about what she knows.”
“What about Edward Bradshaw’s family?”
“I’m about to call his mom, but who knows if she’ll speak to me.” She picked up the phone again, willing her hand not to shake.
“Leave it. We’re going to investigate Natalie Sprigg’s apartment.”
“But… you told me to contact the families.”
“I did. But now I want you to come with me.”
“You mean stop in the middle of my calls?”
“They can wait.”
She set her lips into a hard line, and didn’t budge.
“That’s an order, Doyle.”
Fuck. How she hated him right now. But the truth was, the pull of going to Natalie’s apartment was powerful. And so was the pull of him. She got up from her desk, grabbed her jacket and purse and followed him out, scowling at the back of his perfectly fitted suit jacket, trying to ignore the thick silver waves that almost touched his collar.
In a minute they’d be in the police vehicle together. And even worse, she’d have to ignore those arms as he held the steering wheel—and gods forbid, those long fingers, maneuvering the gear stick!
CHAPTER 11
Having Clare next to him in the confined space of the car was challenging every ounce of his composure.
Oliver cast a glance sideways to see her hands sandwiched between her thighs, as though she was trying to restrain herself. Probably from slapping him, he decided. Frankly, he would welcome the sting of pain on his cheeks. It would be easier than the gnawing guilt. The constant longing to touch her.
As he started up the car, he had the ridiculous urge to confess. To tell her the whole messy story behind why he’d left that night.
Maybe he’d even point to his cheek and invite her to slap him, as many times as she chose. Luckily, reason won out.
They had three months to get through at most. Let her continue to hate him.
He wondered whether he’d tell her the truth on their last day together.
No. Fuck it, why? Why try and make her see him in a better light? Oliver Hale, blood addict. Attacker of innocent humans. Yeah right. Even if he explained why he’d turned from a civilized young vampire with decent values into a blood-sucking vermin,she would never be able to see past that. And to what end? So she would forgive him? Consider seeing him again?
He didn’t do relationships. Casual fucks, that was all he’d allowed himself, and even they were a thing of the distant past. He’d dated the occasional fae in his early years as a police officer. He could resist their blood. But even that had become burdensome, so he’d chosen celibacy instead.
Her words interrupted his thoughts. “How did Saul persuade you to take the job, sir?”
“He didn’t. Grayson did.”
She glanced at him. “As in, Grayson Lightfoot?”
“Yep. He told me Matteus Kominsky had been sighted recently.”
“You never did get to solve that crime, did you sir?” She gave a dry laugh. “Was it your ego that brought you back to Motham?”
Her comment stung. And it was cheeky as fuck. He’d always liked that about her, her bravado. “Guess there could be an element of that,” he grudgingly conceded.
“And maybe not enough challenges in Selig?” she added lightly.
