Surviving Ice (Burying Water #4)(56)

“What?” I snap, though I don’t mean to.

He gives his head a quick shake and then calmly says, “You’ll need new locks on these doors right away.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that.” I sigh, tossing the broken lamp onto the torn-apart couch. “I guess I’m going to hire a locksmith.”

“I can put new locks on for you.”

“You’re a bodyguard and a locksmith?”

He smirks, like there’s some sort of inside joke. “No, but I know a lot about locks.”

I’m not going to ask. Maybe it’s something he picked up in the navy. Besides, refusing his help hasn’t even crossed my mind today. Since stepping into this house in broad daylight, I’ve been nothing but quietly relieved that Sebastian didn’t drop me off and leave, that he feels the need to stay with me, for whatever reason.

A loud, abrupt holler of “Hello?” from the doorway makes me jump again.

I curse and spin on my heels to see Detective Fields stepping over the threshold, sliding his sunglasses off his clean-shaven face to hook the arm in the front of his olive-green dress shirt, his gaze taking in the destruction.

“I take it you got my message.” I left it this morning, on our way to meet the painters, just like Ian told me to. But honestly I assumed I wouldn’t be hearing from him again.

“I did.” He has an even, calm don’t-mess-with-me way about him. Almost bored. I can’t tell if he even likes his job. I haven’t seen him smile much. Then again, most people say I don’t smile much either, and I love my job.

“And?”

A piece of broken glass crunches under his shoe as he comes to stop a few feet from me, glancing at Sebastian, who keeps working away. “And I agree that it is too coincidental.”

“Have you talked to the cops who were here last night?”

He nods slowly. He’s an attractive enough guy, though ordinary looking. He’s in his late thirties, with sandy brown hair, cut with four-inch clippers all the way around. Someone you’d expect to see in a picture with two kids, a wife, and a sweater-wearing dog. “I saw a copy of the preliminary report. They have no prints and no witnesses to work from yet, unfortunately.”

“Great, so basically a dead end.” Just like Ned’s murder. Surprise, surprise. I’m beginning to feel firsthand how easy it is to get away with crime in this city.

“Not yet. They’re thinking the culprits are probably either a bunch of vandals who like to destroy homes, or someone Ned owed money to, coming to search.”

Money. Sebastian asked about Ned owing money.

Fields stretches on his tiptoes to study the hole in the wall where the vent cover was ripped off.

“I guess that would explain that, then.”

“Did your uncle ever mention anything about owing money to Devil’s Iron?” Fields asks, turning his attention back to me, in time to catch my frown.

“No. Why?” They’re still after the biker gang for this?

“I have a source that says Ned was into it large with them.”

“But . . .” I frown. Bobby told me there was nothing there. Unless the sneaky f*ck was lying to me.

Fields gestures at the vents and the holes in the wall. “This, to me, looks like someone on the hunt for hidden cash in hopes of settling up a debt that otherwise won’t get paid.”

Because corpses don’t pay.

“I’ll send some guys over to feel them out,” he offers.

“Thanks,” I mutter, my anger boiling. Those *s were supposed to be Ned’s friends. Would they do something like this?

Fields heads out with a single nod toward Sebastian, leaving me stewing in silence. What did they expect? That there’d be wads of cash hidden in the walls? Maybe there was. If that’s the case, then I guess I’m safe from a repeat visit. But if not . . .

I just want to get this over with and go back to Dakota’s.

“There’s a Home Depot not far from here. If I give you cash, can you—”

“Nope. You’re not staying here alone,” Sebastian replies quickly. He was silent during the detective’s visit—although I’m sure he was listening to every word.

I really don’t want to either, but there’s just so much to do . . . “It’s fine. The lock on the handle still works. Besides, who’s going to come back a second time? There’s nothing left to steal or break.”

Sebastian stands, pulling off his work gloves, and levels me with a look.

I rest my arms over my chest. “Are you always this bossy and paranoid? Or do you know something I don’t know, because if you do, maybe you should tell me so we don’t spend all afternoon arguing. Look at what I have to deal with.” I stretch my arms out at the mess. “It makes way more sense for you to grab the locks and me to keep collecting this shit so we can be done with this mess and I can go have a nap because I’m so damn tired of this nightmare,” I ramble on.

In three quick strides he’s over the pile of stuffing torn from the couch and on me, his fingers weaving into the back of my hair as he pulls my mouth to his.

The kiss is hard and fast, lasting just long enough to remind me of last night on the front steps before everything fell apart. “Shut up and get your purse,” he whispers. He turns and strolls out the front door.