I draw even with her and she looks up at me slowly. Cautiously. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” I clear the weirdness from my throat, liking the hope in her eyes a little too much. Especially when it’s directed at me. “Now people who sing Kelly Clarkson in the shower? We can probably take or leave them.”
A smile blooms across her mouth and she laughs, the light, tinkling sounds traveling around the cave. When she visibly reels her pleasure back in, I almost grab her shoulders and shake it back out of her. Gently, of course.
“What are you thinking about?”
That marks the first time in my life I’ve ever asked anyone that question.
“I was remembering the way Jude used to encourage me to cry when he could tell I needed a good jag. Thank God for my brother.”
All right, he’s more than decent. I might have to be nice to him, too. Fuck my life.
“And then I started wondering why don’t you talk to your brother?”
Discomfort snakes into my middle. “I told you. He’s a prick.”
“But couldn’t you be pricks together?”
She smiles at me to let me know she’s joking and I come very close to smiling back, despite the uncomfortable topic. “He doesn’t exactly agree with my career path. He wants me to come back to Boston and open the private investigation firm, like we planned.” I rake an irritated set of fingers through my hair. “Like nothing ever happened, you know?”
“You mean with Christopher’s kidnapping?” she asks quietly.
“Yes,” I half-shout, before softening my voice for her. She remembered his name? “Yes.”
“What does your brother think about what happened?”
“Kevin? He…” Saying any of this out loud is like having my organs removed with pliers. “Right after it happened, he said there is one in every detective’s career that hits harder and this was mine. And it’s worse because a child is involved. He doesn’t think the right solution was obvious, but that’s a hard pill to swallow when I can look back and see it clearly.”
Christ. This is the last thing I wanted to talk about today. Or any day.
But maybe it’s a good thing, because it reminds me I’m not here to play boyfriend to a sexually frustrated second grade teacher from Connecticut who wants kids and a husband and the whole nine yards. “I’m only investigating Oscar’s murder because I owed a friend a favor, but I don’t belong doing this. Official investigations. It’s a one-time deal.”
“And you’re afraid of messing it up.”
I start to deny it, but hell, she’s right. “Yeah. Fine. Who wouldn’t be?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, studying me closely. Too closely. “Maybe someone who isn’t punishing themselves so hard.”
My throat constricts. “You don’t know anything about it, Taylor.”
Despite my forbidding tone, she isn’t done pursuing this. Am I relieved or angry about it? I have no idea. Only that I’m not budging and neither is she. “I know you were invested in the case because of a childhood friend you lost. Not for selfish reasons. Or negligence—not you. You’re right, I don’t know all of the details, but I know you must have had good intentions.”
“Good intentions aren’t enough in a life or death situation. Like this one.” The need to distract from the wounds inside of me, wounds becoming more and more visible by the moment, wins. “What happened last night shouldn’t happen again, all right? I’m responsible for letting it get that far and I’m sorry. But I just want to solve this case and get back to hunting bounties. There’s no room for a diversion.”
“Okay.” She’s flippant, but there’s something up her sleeve. I can tell. And by the way, I already want to take back everything I just said, even though I can’t. Even though putting a stop to this budding…whatever is the right thing for both of us. “Just do me a favor, Myles. If you’re not interested in distractions with me, don’t tell my other prospects to fuck off.”
Damn. Caught. “How…”
“I saw your reflection in Ryan’s sunglasses. Idiot.”
Hearing her say another guy’s name out loud twists up my nerve endings like a fork twirling spaghetti. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I lean down until our noses are almost touching. “You want flippity flop guy?”
“Better than a panty thief.” She shakes her head. “Why did you steal them anyway? Red isn’t really your color.”