Six shrugs. “Alright, I’ll take a look.” Except that he doesn’t move to leave, only continues to stare at me in a disconcerting way. Everyone’s been looking at me like that since we found the finger in the flowers.
“Yes, Six?”
“It was the ring finger,” he says. “Left hand, ring finger.”
“And?”
“And nothing yet, but that feels significant, don’t you think?”
It’s certainly something I’ve thought about and can’t discount. I’m not one to make snap judgements or decisions without morefacts, however, and right now everything we have is surface level. “You think they’re proposing to me?” I ask dryly.
“Far be it from me to critique a person’s wooing technique, but they could have just left a note.”
“They certainly got my attention.” Though perhaps not the way they wanted it. A walk down the aisle won’t be happening when I find them. “Did you have any luck with the florist?” Xavier has been sending flowers to me for years, but I’ve never had reason to go anywhere near where they come from. If he wants to waste his money and contribute to local businesses, I won’t dissuade him.
“A tiny place owned by an older couple who were lovely and made me a hot chocolate.” He leans back and laces his hands behind his head. “And tight-lipped as all hell. They clearly know who Xavier is—did you know he personally goes in to pay for the flowers a month in advance?”I didn’t, and I’d prefer not to know that—“but they refused to say anything about him, even when I was at my most charming.”
“Then how do you know how he pays, or that he’s even a customer?” Unless Six has picked up mind reading in the last week, which I wouldn’t dismiss outright. He certainly reads Greer’s mind.
“They keep very thorough computer records, which I was not expecting. I was looking for some kind of pseudonym at first ’cause I figured he wouldn’t use his real name, and I almost missed it. He’s sunk enough money into that place to own it a dozen times over. They all but owe him their livelihood.”
I bite back the question I want to ask.Does he send flowers to anyone else?It’s not my business or my concern. What Xavier chooses to do has nothing to do with me.
“Send me all the information you compiled.” Asking and finding out for myself are two entirely different things, and no one else needs to know just how pathetic I am.
“Sure thing. But we won’t get anything else from them. Xavier’s an asshole, but they apparently don’t know that.”
If they’re that loyal to him, I can’t see them allowing anyone to tamper with the flowers when they’re within reach. Which leaves the courier, who Miles said was missing. Was the finger his?
“You know something,” Six says, watching me carefully.
“He has a courier that’s always delivered the flowers, and he’s missing.”
“Now I’m curious howyouknow that.” He narrows his eyes, connecting the dots too quickly. My own fault for creating a team of the best. “You’ve been talking to him. Hunt, that’s not a good idea.”
I’m well aware of that already. I wonder what he’d say if he knew that for the past too-many years, I’ve frequently had Xavier in my bed. I’ve never been able to say no to him once he touches me. He knows it, and he uses it to take advantage, prolonging both our pain. I hate him for it just as much as I’m still completely in love with him.
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“No, you won’t. He’s bad news, and frequent contact with him won’t end well. I know you know that.”
Of course, I do. I always have. That’s never stopped me before. “I want my phone back in ten minutes. And send me that information within the hour.”
He gets in one more disapproving look that I feel down to my soul before leaving.
Instead of doing something productive, I spend five minutes staring at a blank monitor, everything spinning too fast in my mind to slow it down and get work done.
Xavier, what am I going to do about you?
All I know is that I refuse to allow him to control this. Pulling my landline phone closer to me, I pick it up and dial in a familiar number.
The first step is an ambush.
Xavier
Somethingisn’tright.Ican feel it the second I get out of the car. Miles can as well, given the way he tenses and puts a hand close to his firearm, snug on his hip.
“Get back in the car,” Miles orders.
