Soren continued to prowl the office, misplacing items often enough Tobias was certain it was deliberate. He was attempting to rattle him, and he was, just not in the way Soren thought.
“I prefer independent contractor.”
Tobias fought not to roll his eyes. “And what, exactly, is it you’ve been contracted to do?”
Soren picked up an autographed baseball, though Tobias couldn’t say whose name was on the ball. Hell, he’d be lucky to name even four professional baseball players if pressed. Still, he couldn’t take his gaze off it, even when Soren began to casually toss the ball into the air and catch it. Tobias couldn’t help but notice the size of his hands, the length of his fingers, the callouses.
“Waste management.” Soren balanced the ball on the back of his hand before tossing it in the air and catching it in his palm once again.
“And here I thought that was a union job,” Tobias muttered.
Soren shrugged, lobbing the ball to Tobias, who caught it a hair's breadth from his glasses. “Either way, Killeen’s not long for this world. So, whatever it is that brought you to his place of employment, there’s no need to go back.”
“A flat tire brought me to his place of employment.” Tobias refused to glare at Soren. He wasn’t giving this man the satisfaction, nor would he give away a single crumb of information. “Nothing more. It was just a coincidence.”
There was very little on the shelves Tobias cared about but, somehow, Soren zeroed in on the most important one a moment later, picking up the small antique clock, turning it this way and that.
“This looks old,” Soren remarked, sounding like he knew full well it was.
“Yes, and very expensive,” Tobias snapped before he could stop himself. “Please, put it down. Where it belongs.”
Soren did so gingerly. “I might not actually repair tires for a living,”—He glanced at Tobias—“but I’m pretty good at knowing the difference between an act of self-sabotage and a true accident. It’s why you didn’t want me to change that tire at the coffee shop.”
Tobias gave him a wan smile. “Maybe I just didn’t like you.”
Soren grinned, and Tobias was grateful for the desk blocking his pelvis from view because his cock took notice, twitching behind his zipper. What the hell was wrong with him?
“That’s the thing, Doc. Everybody likes me. It’s part of my persona. Likeable. Forgettable. It’s how I do what I do. But you know that, don’t you?”
“I know that you’re likeable?” Tobias asked, his expression growing smug. “That hasn’t been my experience so far, no.”
Soren ran his tongue under his top lip like he was trying not to laugh, and Tobias shifted uncomfortably. He longed for his rage room, his death metal, and a heavy bag. He really needed to beat something.
“What I meant was, you know how to hide in plain sight. But you knew that, too. I’d venture to guess there’s not a whole lot you don’t know, Doc.”
Soren was trying to get a rise out of him, but Tobias couldn’t figure out why. There had been no need to come there and posture like this. Soren hadn’t thought twice about killing his one o’clock patient for this little trip, so if he wanted Killeen dead, why not just do it and beat him to the kill? Why show up and warn Eastman to back off? Unless he was just fishing? Tobias relaxed a bit at the thought. That had to be it. “I’m just a doctor with a unique client list. Nothing more.”
“So you showing up at his shop was just a work field trip? Because it was certainly done deliberately.”
“My showing up at his shop was no such thing. I had a flat tire. Now I don’t.”
“Weird. According to your bank statements, you usually stick to dealerships, even if they’re out of your way.”
“I’d ask how you managed to go through my bank statements, but I imagine you’d just lie to me.”
Soren stopped perusing the bookshelves to lay a hand over his heart, his expression filled with mock sorrow. “I’m hurt, Doc. I’m not a liar. I just asked a friend to do a little digging. I think you know him, too. Ronin? He thinks you’re fascinating, by the way. We all do. You caused quite the stir when we learned about you.”
Tobias didn’t say a word. Ronin had sent Soren to him? Interesting. He’d found John and Akil fascinating, as well. Married contract killers. Ronin had been a bit of a wild card. Asked a lot of questions, ducked a lot of answers. They hadn’t spoken since Ronin had dropped him and Mantis off at the house after he’d been shot and almost killed. “It’s always nice to hear I’ve made an impression.”
Soren once more began to prowl around the office, stopping to pick up another clock off the far shelf. Tobias stiffened as Soren examined it closely, far closer than Tobias’s paternal grandmother’s antique clock. “You sure do have a lot of clocks around here.”
“I’m a stickler for punctuality.”
“What you are is a stickler for recording your client sessions,” Soren said.
Shit. This man was becoming a pain in his ass. “It’s not uncommon for doctors to record their clients so they can update their charts later at their convenience.”
“But this is a camera, Doc.”
