My Killer Vacation(55)

“Only with Myles. Our encounters are always odd.” The joke is barely out of my mouth when something wonderful occurs to me and I gasp, turning in the bounty hunter’s lap to face him. He’s looking down at me, appearing as though he’s trying to chew through a piece of metal. “You’re a suspect this time.”

“Not technically,” Wright interjects. “He was in a meeting with us.”

I raise an eyebrow at Myles. “I’ll need to work up the timeline to be sure.”

At first, I don’t think he’s going to respond. He’s just going to continue glaring, that muscle popping in his cheek. But then he leans forward and speaks into my ear, low enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “I’d take a bullet between the eyes before I raised a hand to you, Taylor. The fact that you have to spend a second in pain makes me want to die. Are those the kind of words you’re talking about? Because they’re the only ones I’ve got.”

Oh my. It’s very hard to concentrate on giving my statement after that, but I get through the final series of questions. My cut is salved and bandaged. No sooner have I thanked Wright and the paramedics before Myles hefts me up against his chest and carries me out of the library’s rear entrance.

“I texted Jude to come pick us up, but he didn’t respond.”

“He has been ignoring his phone because of Dante.”

“Who?” Myles asks absently.

“Never mind. You know, I don’t need to be carried. I’m fine to walk.”

No response.

A black sedan is waiting behind the library and Myles carries me there, sitting us both in the backseat. The driver gives us a curious glance in the rearview, but leaves the parking lot and pulls into traffic without asking questions.

That’s when my adrenaline crashes like scaffolding from ten stories high.

Cold permeates me and I begin to shiver, despite the heat Myles is radiating against me. The last half an hour replays like a dream. Was I really discussing relationships with a police officer or is my brain playing tricks on me? The thwack of heavy leather connecting with the side of my head replays over and over again until it’s hard for me to breathe and the shivers are only getting worse.

“Taylor, you’re shaking.”

“I know.”

His voice is very calm, but there is a layer of anxiousness just below the surface. “You told the EMT you weren’t nauseous. Did something change?”

“No, I’m just realizing what happened. Or how much worse it could have been.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Now that there’s no…buzz. Or activity. Or questions to answer…” I rub my bare arm and Myles immediately takes over that duty. “I’m fine. I’m just really, really cold.”

He nods, a knot moving up and down in his throat. “Almost home. I’ll fix it.”

I can fix it myself. That’s what I want to say. That’s what I always say, in one form or another. But I don’t want to be in charge right now. I just want this man, who I trust, to get me somewhere warm where I can process everything that happened. “I don’t really think you’re a suspect, Myles.”

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart.” He kisses my bandage carefully. “I never thought you were one, either.”

I like him like this—gentle and reassuring—as much as I like him honest and blunt and gruff. There’s more to him than meets the eye. Layers upon layers. Didn’t I somehow already know that? “We never got our ice cream,” I say into his throat. “I was dying to know which flavor you would pick.”

“Cookie dough.”

“Really?”

“Married to it. Never get anything else.”

“I’m flabbergasted. It’s so frivolous.”

“Peach-flavored beer is frivolous, half pint. Cookie dough ice cream is unmatched.”

“Spoken like someone who hasn’t tried butterscotch.”

“And never will. That’s a grandma flavor.”

Midway through my gasp, I realize he’s trying to distract me from what happened—and it’s working. He’s soft on the inside. Did part of me sense that from the beginning? Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Now he’s carrying on a conversation about ice cream even though the vein in his right temple looks like it’s going to tick out of his head. “I’m okay, you know.”

He swallows a sound. “Goddammit, Taylor.”

I can’t stop myself from leaning up and kissing his chin. He closes his eyes at the contact, dipping his mouth to mine, our breaths tripping over one another’s. “Please,” he urges gruffly against my lips. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“I don’t know. Everything. No matter what you’re doing, it gets to me. When you’re pissed or laughing or hurt or not even with me, I get torn up over it.”

“That’s them. Those are the words,” I whisper, shaken, chest twisting.

He’s shaking his head. “Taylor, I’m leaving after I solve this case. As soon as I find out who did this to you, I’m going to lock them up and throw away the key. Then it’s back to bounty hunting. You in Connecticut. Me on the road. I’m not going to be your boyfriend. You’re not going to fix me. I’m not going to settle down. All right? If that’s what you’re thinking could happen…” His jaw flexes. “I’ve done everything I can to give you the opposite impression.”