“Go ahead,” I murmur. “Stay on the porch.”
She nods, slips away, but not before giving Eric a look that could scorch paint over her shoulder. My smart girl. I pull the door halfway closed behind her, keeping him contained on the doorstep.
“If you’re here for something specific,” I say, “say it.”
Eric’s smile fades just a little, but enough. “Alright,” he says, dropping the act. “Can we talk?”
“No.”
He presses his tongue against his cheek. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to. I asked if we could.”
Something mean and impatient flashes in his eyes. The summer heat suddenly feels heavy, oppressive, like the air thickened. I step outside and close the door behind me so Andi can’t hear. “Talk. Then leave.”
“Fine.” He leans in slightly. “I know who you’re working for.”
A cold thread winds down my spine. “Do you?”
“Ursa Arcane isn’t exactly subtle,” he says. “And Makari Medvedev? He’s not the type to recruit small-town newcomers unless he has a reason.”
I cross my arms. “I’m an assistant. I send emails and open his mail.”
“Sure.” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “But you know things, and I need your help.”
“No.”
“Aren’t you going to hear what I need?”
“No.”
He breathes out, slow and frustrated. “You used to be reasonable.”
“You used to mind your own business.”
His jaw twitches. “Things are difficult for me right now.” I say nothing. He continues anyway. “I owe some people money.”
There it is. An admission he didn’t mean to let slip, but once it’s out, he doubles down. “They’re not patient guys,” he says. “I’m sure you saw…” His cheeks flare pink, in embarrassment I realize. He’s thinking of the time I saw him getting his ass beat in the alley. “They want information. Factual information, and you’re in the perfect place to get it.”
My pulse quickens. “Eric, I’m not doing this.”
“You’re already in the bear’s den. You might as well?—”
“I’m not doing this,” I repeat, sharper.
He sighs, frustration simmering. “Roxy, listen?—”
“No. Makari’s business isn’t mine to meddle in, and it sure as hell isn’t yours.”
Eric’s face tightens, cracks appearing in the surface of that bland deputy persona he wears around town. I recognize the shift—it’s the one he used to make right before he said something cruel at a party, squeezed my belly fat or smacked my ass only to shake his head.
“On a first-name basis with him, then. You think he gives a damn about you?” he asks quietly. “You think you matter to him?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice lowers. “Because if you won’t help me, I’m screwed. And people who are screwed do desperate things.”
I take a step back. “Leave.”
“No. Not until you hear me.”
