“Getting Matthew’s lizard.” Not a sentence I ever thought I’d utter. “And then back to the house to figure out our next move. I’ll keep you updated.”
“If I don’t hear from you in two hours, I’m coming back, with cavalry in tow.”
Best to avoid that scenario. “Let me know if you find anything.”
Miles glances at me as I hang up. It’s my turn to say, “What?”
“Adam likes Greer.”
The statement surprises me enough that I have zero idea how to respond. So I don’t, and the rest of the ride to Matthew’s is blissfully quiet.
Miles doesn’t bother parking further away from the house, instead choosing to park in the driveway, in plain sight. He gets out without a word, and I’m forced to follow him up to the front door.
He eyes the holes in the door with a frown. “Did you happen to get a key from Matthew before we left?”
“You were there; did you see me do it?” I retort. Besides— “I doubt Roger’s men bothered to lock the door on their way out.” I’m surprised they even closed it. Might have been the wind. To prove my point, I turn the handle, and the door swings open with ease. I gesture for him to go in first with an exaggerated flourish.
“Tell me about Roger.”
Miles runs his gloved finger along the empty expanse of wall that leads down the hallway. “Did you leave any bodies?” he asks, ignoring my request.
“Just one. Entrance to the kitchen, just ahead of you.” There’s a glimpse of red in the room, though less than I expected. The body, of course, is gone. “Guess they took him with them.”
“Less evidence,” Miles murmurs, crouching down to where only flecks of blood remain. “Were they after him or you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. If they were following me, they were subtle about it. But anyone can be tailed effectively if done right. The idea that they were after me, and that Matthew got caught in the crossfire, is guilt inducing. Even if they weren’t and hadn’t followed me, me simply being near him last night put him in the crossfire. Asking him to dinner was a mistake.
Miles stands and turns to face me, a wisp of hair falling over his forehead. No braid today; he has it in his regular half-up style. It’s not as long as Jericho’s hair but long enough it would feel nice to thread my fingers through it. If he’d ever allow it.
“Where will we find this lizard of his?”
“Why did you kiss me?”
His brows draw in. “Excuse me?”
“Why did you kiss me last night?”
He shoves a hand into his pocket, changing his stance. “Xavier asked me to.”
I run a hand down my mouth and chin, floored by the answer. “Because heaskedyou to? That’s it?”
“What answer are you looking for?”
Not the one I got, that’s for sure. There’s something he’s not telling me. He takes a step back when I approach him, his back hitting the wall.
“What are you doing?”
I go to touch his cheek, and warm leather snaps around my wrist before I can make contact, confirming my suspicion. “You’ll kiss me, but you won’t let me touch you?” A strange line to draw.
He swallows, gaze flitting to where he’s still holding me. Keeping me at a distance. “It’s not personal. I don’t let anyone touch me.”
“Not even Xavier?”
He hesitates before saying, “No.” There’s more to the answer than that, but I don’t push.
“If he asked you to touch me?” I almost spit out the words, the taste of them bitter in my mouth. If he only did those things because he was told to, that turns the entire situation into something else and not in a pleasant way. I’ve never once had to force anyone, and being any way complicit in that kind of situation makes me feel sick.
“Then I would.” He says it so simply, like it’s not completely fucked up that he would go so far outside of his comfort zone just because Xavier asked.
