He chuckled. “You totally did.”
“That’s it. I am officially too tired to operate my mouth and brain.”
“Does that mean you’re too tired for stairs?”
I turned my head and gave him a small smile. “I’m not too tired to operate my feet. I should go home.”
“Then home it is.” He eased the truck out onto the road and turned on the heater. Classic rock wafted through the speakers, turned down so low, it was almost a lullaby. I leaned my head against the side window and closed my eyes.
“Hey, Lane,” Ryder said softly. “We’re here.”
I opened my eyes with a start and tried to get my bearings. We were parked at the bottom of my stairs, the engine turned off, rain clattering across the truck’s roof.
Lane. He hadn’t called me that since we were in school. I had forgotten how much I liked his nickname for me. “Tell me this isn’t the worst date you’ve ever been on,” I said.
“Not even in the top ten worst.”
“Top twenty?”
He rocked his hand back and forth. “The dead body definitely puts it in the top twenty-five.”
“Well, good. Wouldn’t want the night to be a total loss.” I tucked my hair back behind my ears and narrowed my eyes at him. “Thanks for the ride, traitor.”
“Whoa. Traitor?”
“You sided with my sister back there.”
“You didn’t see your sister’s face when you passed out in front of Jump Off’s. She looked like a valkyrie.”
“Valkyrie?” Chills ran down my arms. I knew the town’s only valkyrie: Bertie. Did he know? Did he know about the creatures in this town?
“Norse myth. Warrior women who gather up the fallen heroes and take them to their final party place in Valhalla.”
“Right. Sure. Norse thing. It’s been a while since I took that mythology class in high school.”
He dipped his head to catch my eyes. Waiting until I met his gaze. “Myra’s worried about you. Since she’s your sister, and a cop, and isn’t the kind of person who overreacts, I’m worried about you. Are you really okay, Lane?”
“It was just a fluke. Passing out. Must have had too much to drink.”
“Two beers?”
“I’m out of practice, apparently.”
He frowned, his gaze searching my face. He didn’t believe me. Or he didn’t want to.
I didn’t want him to find the truth—that I was tired, a little scared, and full of really noisy power. I pulled on the door handle and turned away. “Anyway. Thanks for the ride. Congrats on getting conned into helping out at the station, you foolish man. See you in the morning.”
I got out of the truck before he could say anything and sucked in a hard breath at the temperature change. Cold, blustery, wet. Springtime in the Pacific Northwest.
I crunched over gravel to the bottom of the stairs, put one hand on the railing, and started up. Halfway to my goal, I heard the truck door close and then theshuck-shuckof boots jogging up the stairs behind me.
Jogging.
Seriously.
“You don’t have to follow me.” I didn’t bother looking back at him.
“I promised Myra I’d make sure you were home.” He slowed to move in rhythm with me as I trudged up the stairs. His boots, my bootsshuck-shuckingas one.
