she whispered. Had he carried her memory as she had
carried his? That was impossible. Crazy.
“Because you were supposed to build a life.” He was
practically snarling. “A safe life.”You were supposed
to live, not die,he didn’t say, but she heard it anyway.
She scuffed the toe of her boot against the floor and
retreated behind her customary wall. “And here I
thought you came looking for information.”
“That’s information.” He was still holding her arm,
not tight enough to bruise but definitely tight enough
to keep her in place. With his free hand, he caught hold
of a dark ringlet where it lay across her shoulder,
frowning slightly as he tested the spring in the curl.
“You wanna lose a finger?” She disengaged her hair
with meticulous, unhurried care and brushed his hand
EVE SILVER
177
aside. He let her. His strength—both physical and
supernatural—was such that he could do pretty much
anything he pleased. And what he pleased was to touch
her, stroke her hair, study her features…all of which
made her distinctly uneasy.
“Roxy.” He said her name like he was tasting it, savoring the flavor. Tensing, she waited for some revelation, some declaration. Of what? She had no idea. But
he when he spoke again, he didn’t say anything she
thought to expect. “Why did you kill Frank Marin?”
The question came out of nowhere. She blinked.
Anger flared. The bastard. The lowlife, shithead bastard. “What? You figured you wouldn’t get answers just
plain asking, so you tried to—” She stopped, at a loss
for words. Really, he hadn’t done anything more, or
less, than say her name. Was it his fault that it had sent
