Soren tucked his phone away and lifted his gaze to the doc. “What was that?”
“I didn’t say anything. Who are you messaging?”
Soren narrowed his eyes, ignoring the latter part of the question. “Coulda sworn I heard a ‘could you please make me an omelet, too?’” He plastered on a winsome grin.
Toby’s lips twitched before he turned away, and, goddammit, Soren knew in that moment he was going to stay. He supposed he should ask the doc if he even wanted that in the first place, but he also didn’t care what he said. He suspected Tobias would refuse. He was staying, regardless. Not only was he going to stay and make sure Killeen’s men didn’t off him, he was also going to fix Glasses the fluffiest fucking omelet this side of the Mississippi. And, after that, Soren supposed he might as well get him dressed and take him to Build-a-Bear, or on a shopping spree, or buy him a fur fucking coat and a pair of Louboutins.
Fucking feelings.
Soren flipped the knife in his grip and reached into the fridge for the peppers and eggs. “You like teddy bears, Glasses?”
“You like being involuntarily committed?”
Soren chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
* * *
“When were you involuntarily committed?”Tobias asked an hour later while they were stuck in traffic on the way to his office.
“I haven’t been. I was just messing around.” Soren twisted around in the passenger seat as a horn blared behind them. “Had several people tell me I should be, but who hasn’t?” He grinned.
Tobias drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then glanced at him sidelong with a frown. “Something about you doesn’t add up.”
“Math isn’t my strong suit, so it beats me.”
“That.” Tobias clucked his tongue. “Defensive self-deprecation. It’s often deployed like a forcefield—a means of deflection. You employ it that way, but you’re not protecting yourself from anything.” He shook his head, inching the car forward as traffic started to move. “You’re either telling the truth and you’ve reached some sort of enlightened state of self-acceptance, or you’re lying so well that you’ve even convinced yourself—which is harder than people think—or I’ve officially met the biggest sociopath of my career.”
Soren rubbed a hand over an empty pang in his stomach and glanced out the window. “I can’t tell you either way. I gave up on that shit a long time ago.”
“Oh, you’ll tell me eventually. Maybe not verbally, but it’ll come out.”
Tobias sounded so confident that Soren didn’t have the heart to warn him that there probably wasn’t all that much interesting about him. Soren had figured out in his twenties that he excelled at offing people, and when considering the paycheck for that versus the pittance he got doing construction work, it had been an easy decision. And that funny feeling in his stomach, well, he wasn’t sure what the hell that was.
“This really isn’t necessary,” Tobias protested as they exited the elevator and walked down the hallway toward his office. “I told you. You think I haven’t been on a hit list before? No one will mess with me, though, because of the crossover factor.”
“Crossover factor?” Soren echoed, brows pulling together.
“Killeen’s men might be after me, but they have enemies, too. The Southie Boys, for one.” Tobias waved a hand. “One of their higher ups is a patient of mine, and he has a vested interest in keeping me alive because we’ve got a deal.”
“What sort of deal?”
“Can’t talk about it. Doctor-patient privilege.”
The doctor’s benign expression was belied by the shrewdness of his gaze. Soren wasn’t sure he’d ever been around someone that smart before longer than a couple of hours. It was…intimidating. “Fair. I still think I’ll stick around a little longer. Make sure everything’s copacetic.”
Tobias chuckled as he twisted the handle on his office door. “Better find a hotel, then.”
Before Soren could retort, Tobias opened the office door and they both froze.
The office lobby had been upended, drawers emptied, papers and files strewn all over. Broken glass littered the floor in glittering shards. The sofa and chair cushions had been slashed, the stuffing pulled out. Tobias’s office was similarly destroyed. Smeared and spattered over every surface was an egregious amount of red that Soren scooped a finger through and determined to be blood.
“Janice,” Tobias whispered.
But she wasn’t there, and Tobias exhaled in relief a few moments later when his phone dinged with a text. “She’s running late. I told her to take the day off.”
Soren knelt and stirred through a pile of papers on the ground. “You want to call the police, get an official report on this?”
“Of course not. That just calls attention to me.”
