He shook his head. “I remembered.”
My eyes widened, but I caught myself and tried to appear unaffected. “Well . . . thanks.”
“No problem. Feel better?”
I nodded. Caffeine was a magic worker and when combined with grease it was even better.
“Good. Listen, Mar, I know you’re pissed at me, but we need to talk.”
My spine straightened as his tone changed from light and almost soothing to serious. Snippets of what Ada told me last night came rushing back through the haze the tequila had left. We would talk, but I’d be the one controlling the conversation.
“I have stuff I want to ask you, too,” I said before he could continue. “Like what interest do you have in my parents’ death?”
His lips parted slightly. I’d caught him off guard. Actually, I’d kinda caught myself off guard too. I hadn’t meant for it to come out so bluntly, but there was no taking it back now. Not that I wanted to. I needed to know what was going on here.
Robin released a sigh and leaned forward. “We’re on the same page. Go figure.” His lips quirked up in a soft smile. “I guess Ada told you I called about them a few times?”
“Yup.” I took another bite of sandwich.
“I discovered who murdered them.”
I dropped what remained of my sandwich and shot out of my chair. In a second, my breathing became hard and fast, and my heart rate skyrocketed. I placed a hand on my chest, pain flooding me.
Robin stood, and his eyes raked over me with concern. “It’s okay, Mar, it’s okay. You should sit down. You’re hyperventilating.”
But sitting wasn’t an option. I couldn’t breathe or see or even think. The world spun, and my tiny kitchen constricted. The food and coffee I’d eaten threatened to make a reappearance as a whine left my throat, strange and high, like the sounds I made in my fox aspect.
Robin placed a light hand on my shoulder, and almost as quickly as the rapid breathing came on, it slowed beneath the grounding of his hand.
“Breathe, Marian. Breathe, in and out. In and out.”
Slowly, breath by breath, the world around me shifted back into place. When I felt like it had stopped spinning, I glanced sidelong at Robin. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” It was only then that I noticed how close we had become. His face was inches from mine, and his scent—Ivory soap and cedar—wrapped around me.
Arousal arose inside me as my gaze danced over the strong square of his jaw, and it registered how his hands were the perfect combination of firm yet gentle as they pressed down on my shoulders. I shuddered. My primal shifter instincts were threatening to overcome my more rational human ones. My fox wanted me to shift, to be with another fox and make all the bad go away.
As if that could ever happen.
“Should we sit?” Robin spoke, breaking into my thoughts, his voice raspy. No doubt his fox had been reacting to mine. Shifters sensed pheromones easily. And once they sensed them on someone they were attracted to, it was hard to shake the pull of the other fox.
I nodded and, with Robin’s help, took my seat again. He broke the connection between us, and my fox chilled out. I took a deep stabilizing breath. Once he sat too, I leaned forward, my hands flat on the table.
“Who killed my parents?”
“I’ll tell you,” Robin said slowly. “But you have to promise not to overreact. If I’m right, I know you'll want to do something about it. For the record, I do too, and I think I have a good plan for revenge. One that could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Fine. I won’t overreact. Just tell me.”
Robin drew in a slow breath. “You said you work at the Oasis, right?”
I gave a single nod.
“Well, I’ve spent the last year digging up evidence on not only your parents’ murders, but my parents’ murders too. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that both crimes led back to Sherwood.”
My jaw dropped. “Sherwood?! As in my boss? No way. That can’t be true.” I wasn’t about to pretend that Sherwood wasn’t capable of murder. He was a vampire, and all vampires killed at one point or another. Some even enjoyed it, though I wasn’t sure that Sherwood landed in that camp. And then there was the question of why he would hire me if he’d killed my parents?
“Sherwood and his mate don’t like shifters much, right?”
