Surviving Ice (Burying Water, #4)(53)

“And call that detective we talked to. Make sure he knows about this. I don’t trust those police departments to talk to each other.”

“Do you really think there’s a connection?”

“Honestly, with Ned . . . yeah. Listen, I gotta run to my next class. Let me know if you need something, Ivy. Please.”

I hang up with my cousin and toss the phone to the table, troubled by what this “connection” may be.

“So, you did his seven-hour tattoo, and then . . .” Dakota prods, pulling us back to the topic of Sebastian.

I sigh. Sebastian is a more pleasant topic, and I can’t tackle the insurance problem right now. “And then he asked me out for a drink. I told him to meet me in the VIP lounge of Daredevils. I went home to shower and change.” That was at around ten thirty. Were they already in the house when I was there? Hiding in the closet, watching me change? No, they broke down the door, so they couldn’t have been. Still, just the thought sends chills down my spine and I hug my blanket tighter to me. “We were at the club for a little over an hour and then he drove me home. I didn’t know that someone had broken in until we were at my front door. He ran in to check things out and I called the cops.”

Sebastian ran to check things out with a gun in his hand. A gun that he had tucked in his boot at the bar, and possibly all day while I worked on him. It startled me to see him with it. But I really don’t know anything about him, other than that he was a soldier and now he’s a bodyguard.

“Thank God he was there with you.” That’s what I love most about Dakota. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who knows me—and people who don’t—why I was bringing Sebastian, a guy I’d just met, home with me. But there isn’t a judgmental bone in Dakota’s body. It could be her spiritual inclinations, or her relaxed nature, but she has always been like that. And she’s always lived life with the expectation that no one should judge her, either. People do, because people are critical *s, by and large—but the thing is, she doesn’t care, and she’s enjoyed life more because of it.

“Yeah. He was there with me last night. I’m not dumb enough to be counting on him to be there today, though,” I mutter.

My words end with a doorbell and Dakota’s know-it-all smile.

“Shit. He’s early.” I look down at myself, still in my boxers and tank top, my teeth not even brushed. “I need ten minutes. Can you stall him?”

She nods eagerly.

Okay, maybe unleashing Dakota on Sebastian at eight fifteen isn’t the best idea. He may still run. “But don’t start talking about all that weird aura stuff. You’ll freak him out. He’s . . . different. Very reserved.” I dart past her and toward the spare room that I slept in last night, slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t have a lot of choice in clothes—I can’t wear the corset dress I had on last night. All I managed to grab in the chaos were leggings and . . . I rifle through my bag and realize that I didn’t grab a shirt. I don’t have a shirt to wear.

I heave an annoyed sigh at myself. I’ll have to borrow something of Dakota’s.

She’s at least six inches taller than me, so this should be interesting.

I pass through the joint bathroom that connects the two bedrooms and walk directly into her closet. She wears a lot of maxi dresses that would drag around my feet, and likely not stay up to begin with, so my options are limited. Very limited. I manage to root out a rose-pink shirt—just about the last color I’d ever choose to wear in my life. It fits well enough, though its cropped length leaves nothing to the imagination thanks to my leggings.

Maybe Sebastian’s imagination needs help anyway.

I shift into the bathroom to do a quick makeover. Dakota’s bathroom is old and cramped, with original tile and poor lighting. I’d never rent this place but I know why she does. It’s charming and quirky, just like her.

And I’ve left her out there with Sebastian.

I throw on daytime makeup and run a brush through my hair. The sides are beginning to grow in. I haven’t decided if I want to shave them again or grow my hair out. Or just lop all my hair off. For now, I leave it down and brush the morning nastiness from my mouth.

When I reemerge, I can hear Dakota’s voice carrying from the greenhouse. I round the bend to find her holding up Sebastian’s T-shirt—charcoal gray, today—as she examines his work. “. . . Yes, the crows circling around her head, that very much signifies the sudden loss of her uncle, and the guilt that haunts her.”

I don’t know where she comes up with this shit. She didn’t even smoke a joint this morning.

“Hey!” I exclaim too loudly. Sebastian peers over his shoulder, his arm raised in the air to accommodate Dakota’s intrusion. He has a strange look on his face—part amusement, part annoyance, part unreadable. When his gaze drifts over my outfit, his expression warms a little.

And it warms my body along with it. It’s impossible for me not to react to this man’s attention. We were so close to ending up in my bed last night. As if falling asleep hasn’t been impossible already, add a breakin and complete trashing of the house, and I’m not entirely certain that I was ever fully unconscious last night.

Leaving me plenty of time to think about Sebastian.

He looks like he got about as much sleep as I did, his eyes tarnished with heavy circles. That he still showed up here to help me speaks volumes. It must be in his protective nature. Or he’s still hoping to get laid.