“So, what’s this case about?” I ask, disappointed that he doesn’t smell like pipe tobacco. “Is there a murderer on Rainey?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Booney. Cross my heart. Not even Holmes.”
His jaw tenses as his eyes track mine. Then fall to my cuffed wrists.
He curses under his breath and quickly releases me from the cuffs.
“I’m not sure if a murderer lives on Rainey,” he finally says, examining my wrists as he talks. “But we’ve had three vigilante murders with ties to classical paintings in the last two weeks.”
“Oh! John the Baptist!” I say, using the media’s nickname.
Boone’s thumb ghosts over the paper-thin skin of my inner wrist as he grumbles under his breath. “I wish theStatesmanwould stop calling him that, and the department is still trying to find out who leaked the murders to the press.”
The heat of his thumb on that sensitive real estate is making my knees weak. Unfortunately, I get the feeling he’ll spook like a guinea pig at anything as clockable as an eye twitch, so I shut down my reaction, hardcore.
“Bet you never thought you’d use your art history minor, did you?” I ask, then immediately curse myself.
Basically just admitted that you’ve low-key online-stalked him for years, dumbass.
“Not really.” He swallows thickly, dropping his hands away from mine. “They’ve got me following up on a few clues.”
Mourning the loss of his touch, I lose the thread of the conversation for, like, a microsecond.
Oh right. Art and murder and vigilantes.
“If it’s a vigilante murderer, I guess that means the victims were bad guys?”
“Yes,” he confirms with a grimace and a faraway look. “Very, very bad guys.”
“Yikes.”
“You have no idea.”
14
BOONE
I don’t knowwhy I’m discussing the case with Maverick, except that he’s so easy to talk to. Surprisingly so. Maybe I’d be less surprised if I weren’t judging him based on his social media presence.
Or the fact that he was taking a selfie in the middle of the street.
Or the fact that, for a brief moment, everyone else disappeared and he was just standing there.
My own personal sun god in gold eyeliner.
Stop picturing the kiss, Boone.
Fuck, I want to kiss him again.
“Our tech guys believe the murder suspects had help, which is why we can never get any good security footage.”
“Suspects?” he asks, drawing me out. “So, it’s more than just John the Baptist?”
I nod. “We think it might be a team of people helping out the artist.”
Maverick raises his brows, and I sigh. The number of suspects keeps climbing.
