Darker Days (The Darker Agency #1)(31)

“No worries. He’s a client—I’m just trying to make good on our deal, that’s all. We said we’d help, so we need to try.”

She said nothing, but I could tell by the look on her face she wasn’t buying it, which annoyed me.

Lukas was narrow-minded and annoying. Sure, he was nice to look at and had a voice that could make an Eskimo melt, but he was a client. Just a client. The idea that I could be getting attached to someone like that was insane.

Absolutely insane.





Chapter Thirteen




Mom and Dad had gone to bed hours ago. I didn’t even want to think about what they were doing up there.

It was going on three-thirty and I’d given up on sleep. I was beyond beat—hell I couldn’t even remember coming downstairs—and I was hoping a cup of cocoa would help, because really, there wasn’t much a cup of cocoa wouldn’t help.

“Where’d you come from?”

I jumped, sending the milk to the ground. It bounced once then poured out across the tile floor in a sea of pure white.

“Three a.m. is not the time for the birds and bees lesson,” I grumbled, snatching the nearly empty container from the floor.

Lukas must have been oblivious to my now craptastic mood, because he kept talking. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” I mumbled, shaking the container. “Probably can’t have hot cocoa now, either, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad actually.”

I grabbed the paper towels from the counter and began mopping up the mess before the urge to hit him won out. “You’re glad I can’t sleep? Or that I can’t have cocoa? ’Cause either way, not the way to win me over—I like sleep and love chocolate.”

“I was hoping for some company.”

I gave an inward groan. Perfect. Be more of a bitch, Jessie. “What about you? Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he said, dropping to his knees beside me.

I shook the carton of milk again. Might be just enough left. “Hot cocoa?”

“Never had it.”

Never had it? That was a crime! I forced a smile and climbed to my feet. “Well, then you’re in for it. Hot cocoa and Beethoven—two things I love about life.”

A grin spread across his face. He folded his arms. “Ludwig van Beethoven? Really?”

I split the remainder of the milk between two mugs, stirred in the cocoa mix and set the microwave timer. “A fan?”

“The man was a musical genius.”

I slammed the spoon down. The guy was annoying as hell, but at least he had good taste in tunes. “A-frigging-men!”

He stood. “Beethoven was a bit before my time, how do you know of him?”

“His work is kinda timeless. Still popular today with a select crowd.”

And stupid doorbell companies…

His grin went from ear to ear. I couldn’t help thinking he should smile more often. It lit up his entire face. “I have to say, this surprises me about you.”

“I strike you more as a death metal type, eh?”

“Death metal?”

The microwave dinged. “Never mind.” I pulled out one of the steaming cups and handed it to him. The tips of his fingers skimmed the top of my hand, and we both froze. Butterflies raged in the pit of my stomach, and that warm-all-over feeling I’d felt when he caught me from falling outside Flankman’s returned—with a vengeance.

“Let’s go sit,” I said, taking a wide step to the left. Distance. Distance was my friend. Bad butterflies. Bad. Apparently they didn’t hear the conversation I’d had with Mom. The one about Lukas being nothing more than a client.

We settled on the couch across from each other in silence and sipped our cocoa.

After a few minutes, my curiosity got the better of me. “Back at school, Vida said something about last time. What did she mean? What happened when you helped my grandfather round the Sins up in 1959?”

He set the cup down and looked away.

“I’m sorry. I tend to be on the nosy side. You don’t have to tell me.”

He thought about it for a moment. “I propose a trade.”

“Trade?”

“A question for a question.”

“Anything goes?”

A few moments passed. Finally, he said, “Agreed.”

I settled back against the cushion and sipped my cocoa. This could get interesting. “Then the question stands.”

He actually looked annoyed. Like he thought I was going to ask something else? Grumpy had a lot to learn. “They made things—uncomfortable for me. I don’t know that words could properly describe it. Madness. All the emotions attached to sin—anger, pain, longing—all forced on me at once. I was like one raw nerve exposed to violent elements with no way to get free.”

“This was while you were inside the box? I thought you said you kind of slipped into a stasis?”

“I do, but I can still feel. It’s like being half asleep. You’re aware of what’s going on around you, but instead of choosing not to open your eyes—you can’t.”

I couldn’t imagine what that must be like. The hell it must be. To be trapped somewhere, unable to defend yourself. “I’m sorry.” It was a pitiful response, but what else could I say? Sucks to be you seemed a little mean.