No Perfect Hero(47)
“Work, Hay. That's why I went,” I say without thinking. Talking to Tara has relaxed me too much, made my tongue loose. “Following a mark.”
Haley’s brows knit. “A mark?”
Fuck. Make that too loose.
I hiss under my breath, keeping the curse words on my lips from curious listening little ears, but the truth's out now. “Had a suspect who skipped bail before going to trial. I had to hunt him down and bring him back.”
I can see the wheels turning behind her sweet eyes, the moment it clicks. They widen, and she sucks in a breath, just staring at me. “Wait. You’re a bounty hunter?”
“What’s a bounty hunter?” Tara pipes up.
“Nothing you need to know about, love,” Haley answers quickly, firmly, and her sharp stare says I’d better not enlighten the girl, either.
I sigh and shrug. “So what if I am?”
“Well, it explains a lot.” Her gaze narrows. “So instead of spending your life chasing people off, you just spend your life chasing? That’s no way to live.”
“Newsflash, darlin' – not everybody wants to stay in one place for ten hours at a time just to capture the perfect shade of a cloud.”
Hay snorts, but some of the tension eases from the air as she looks away. “Oh, please. Is that what you think I do? Anyone who needs ten hours to capture one shade either isn’t a very good artist...or might just be the best in the world and really devoted to their craft.”
“Which one are you?”
She shrugs, her smile fading. “A talentless hack who’s less worried about accuracy and more worried about how it feels.”
“Not talentless,” I growl, wondering why she'd even think it. “You captured the feeling of Heart’s Edge damn well.”
No lie. No exaggeration. It's hanging on my wall, isn't it? But I don't tell her that.
I just wonder how she’d capture the feeling sitting heavy in my chest, or what's rattling around in her, betrayed by the startled way she looks at me.
Then she twists away with a blush, turning her suddenly soft, a hellion tamed into something sweet and silent and grateful for my words.
*
The rest of dinner goes down quiet. Less tense.
I don’t even feel like I’ve worn out my welcome, but I also think maybe I should give Hay some space. Something’s clearly pressing on her mind, and she brushes off my offer to do dishes to pay for my meal.
“Already paid with free vet care, remember?” she points out with the same faint, troubled smile.
Fuck my life.
I can’t just walk away when she looks so miserable. “Doc fixed up Mozart, not me,” I say, and start gathering up dirty dishes into a stack. “So you’ll have to make one more complimentary dinner. I was just the wheels. Speaking of...how's your car?”
“Running. For now,” she says, following me into the kitchen with a handful of utensils. “Stewart says if I keep driving it around, it’s going to pop again. And then my sister will kill me.”
For some reason, Stewart’s name on her lips makes me bristle. I force it down and carefully set the stack of dishes in the sink, then turn the water on. “What were you doing with your sister’s car, anyway?”
“I don’t have one,” she says. We’re working side by side as if it comes natural, her pouring in dish soap, me stealing the utensils from her and dropping them in a rapidly filling pot to soak. “I lived in Seattle. It’s one of the best public transit systems in the world. And crazy expensive to park anywhere.” Her lips twist bitterly. “If I needed to go somewhere fast, I’d just borrow Eddy’s car or hop a ride.”
“Fuckface fiancé Eddy?” It's out before I can stop it.
“Ex-fiancé,” she bites back.
I hold up one soapy hand in surrender.
“Ex. Damn right.”
“Yeah.” She throws a subtle glance over her shoulder, toward the notebook, before she snorts and steals the faucet, swinging it around to her side and turning it on cold. “You wash, I dry?”
“Deal.” Grabbing the sponge, I start swiping down plates, but can’t help following that quick glance. “You heard from him recently?”
There's a long second of silence.
“He wrote me,” she bites off, seething, and I’m half afraid she’ll crack the next plate I hand her with that fierce grip. “Like email or text messages aren’t a thing.”
“You can delete those unread. Block his email and number,” I tell her. “You can’t block a piece of paper.”
“I don't even know how he found out we were here. My sister didn't say anything. That's Eddy, though. Sneaky. And oblivious. If I’m not answering the phone or email, he could be a decent human and get the message...but that's asking too much. Instead, he's forcing his bullshit on me!” she flares. “I wish I'd just ripped it up.”
I steal a look over my shoulder at Tara, but she’s distracted, watching something on TV and snuggling up with Mozart, her cheek pillowed on the cat’s flank. But I keep my voice low as I ask, “You want to tell me what he said?”
She eyes me warily and sighs. “What do cheating bastards always say when they realize they tossed away the best thing in their lives?”