Suddenly, the small room felt much smaller with just the two of them in it.
And the heat in Rose’s cheeks continued to simmer for it.
* * *
“THEY FOUNDDAVEKYLER,” the man said. “He was quick to admit you hired him to put a bomb in the deputy’s apartment.”
He was short but intimidating in his own right, clean-cut in his pressed, button-up and slacks, and hair styled with gel more expensive than most people’s monthly paycheck. He was young too.
Not as young as Derrick had been.
Damon Tillman felt the rage in him pulse.
He didn’t let it show. He had expected this news.
“Which means the deputy should have realized that I know where she lives now,” Damon said. “Which means, if she’s crafty, she’ll find somewhere else to lay her head tonight.” He felt the corners of his lips lift into sharp points. “And thankfully, she’s as crafty as I hoped.”
The young man opposite him, holding a clipboard and a blank expression like it was his only job in life, nodded.
“Not all of the guns for hire turned on you, but two did and that was enough,” he added.
Damon nodded.
“Which already confirmed to that dear Detective Williams and sheriff that I’m still most likely in the area code.”
The man agreed with his own nod. Then, despite his steely demeanor, he let some of the curiosity he’d been holding on to the last few months slip out.
“Why can’t we do away with her now? We know where she is. It would be easy.”
Damon felt like his smile was a knife, cutting into his own skin while it waited to cut into another’s.
“Because Rose Little’s being dead isn’t the goal,” he said. “It’s the act of dying that I want to focus on.”
The young man didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he gave the last of his report.
“Then I’ll give Mr. Danvers the go-ahead.”
Damon gave a slow nod.
“Even if she can survive this round, I doubt she will the next.”
The young man left, but Damon stayed in the office.
While Rose’s death by Mr. Danvers would work for him, Damon couldn’t help but find himself rooting for Rose just a little.
Mr. Danvers would be quick.
What came next, wouldn’t be.
Chapter Nine
James made a mean everything-omelet, filled with bacon and peppers, onions and two types of cheeses. It was his go-to meal, and had been since he was a teen. Now, as a man past thirty, wearing a set of coveralls and living in a house he had bought with money he’d earned with his hands, the meal felt different somehow.
Maybe because the first person he had served it to outside of his family had not only praised it, but asked for seconds.
It was more than satisfaction for him. It was a point of pride. A pride he wore with a growing smugness as he cleared the plates and handed her the coffee she had requested.
“I could get used to this,” Rose muttered, taking the coffee with a nod. “You could turn this place into a bed-and-breakfast with your kind of service.”
