Either she can read between the lines of what I’m saying, or she’s a bit of an idiot, too, since her smile just broadens, her heart in her eyes as she looks at me. “Me, too. I don’t want to leave.”
“Let’s stay,” I blurt out without thinking.
Her smile doesn’t fade, though it does turn a shade skeptical. “Like, for a few more days? I have to get back to my job once we find Dean.”
His name threatens to sour the mood, the happy bubble we’ve trapped ourselves in. Finding and arresting Dean was always the plan, and I meant it when I told Helen it would be the safest thing for him, with the mafia on his trail; but there’s no way around it—arresting the brother of the woman you’re crazy about is a bit of a buzzkill.
I push past it, blindly and willfully. “Quit your job. I’ll move my business down here, get my bounty hunting license in the state of Louisiana. You can work for me.”
I’m only half joking. If she says yes, I’ll do it in a heartbeat; the joking part comes from knowing she’ll never go for it.
She folds her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Doing what? I didn’t know bounty hunters had a big need for librarians.”
“Oh, they do. Someone who knows how to do monotonous research? Check. Handle even the weirdest members of the public? Check. Can navigate public records? Check.” I’m kind of convincing myself with this whole bit, though she still looks dubious. Leaning in toward her, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Distract said bounty hunter when trapped on a boat for hours? Check, check, check.”
She blushes, lightly shoving me away. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think it’s the best idea to work for your boyfriend.” She tenses as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Notboyfriend, but…whatever you would call this. If this even needs a name. I’m not saying it does.” A sharp, nervous intake of breath. “Does it?”
Boyfriend is such a stupid word. I’m not opposed to the idea in theory, but it does sound a little bit like we’re back in high school. “You can call me your boyfriend, if you want,” I say quickly, mostly to ease her obvious stress. “I think I’d prefer to call you Sister Helen, though, but only in the bedroom.”
The tension eases out of her shoulders just like that, and she laughs a little, even as she rolls her eyes at me.“Thad.”
“The rest of the time?” I scratch my chin, as if considering it. “Maybe…my old lady?” I hook my index finger into one of the fishnet loops near her waist, tugging her toward me. “My ball and chain?”
She fights her amusement, half glaring at me. “You really like those better than just plain old ‘girlfriend,’ huh?”
My heart does a little stutter at that word. Girlfriend is much better than boyfriend, I decide right away. It doesn’t sound stupid or immature at all. A girlfriend is the woman who can make your heart skip a beat when you pick her up for date night, but who is also unbearably cute in sweatpants, ready to binge-watch TV. A girlfriend makes you lose your mind with how much you want to touch her, all the time, but also makes you laugh and gives the best hugs when you’ve had a bad day. “Actually,” I manage at last, “girlfriend sounds about right.”
Her smile back at me is so bright, it almost hurts to see it. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut, but also, strangely, like I kind of…enjoyed it?
“Ms. Flanagan?”
We’re so locked into each other that we both start at the sound of someone approaching. I turn to see one of the front desk clerks. That intense, electric chemistry between Helen and me must not be all that subtle, since the clerk is staring down at the ground, hard, like he’s afraid to look at us too directly. “Someone left a message for you at the front desk.”
He passes Helen a folded-up piece of paper before beating a hasty retreat back to the desk. Helen exchanges a quick, surprised frown with me as she looks down at the note. “What’s this…?”
I watch her as she unfolds it, tracing the furrow of her brow, the widening of her eyes. “Who’s it from?”
“Dean,” she tells me, eyes still wide with amazement.
The message is curt and to the point: Meet me in 508 bring no one - D
I’m immediately skeptical that it’s from him, though Helen seems to think it tracks. “He’s not much of a chitchat guy,” she explains to me as we make our way to our room. “This seems exactly like the type of message he’d leave—because he’s much too important to write full sentences or punctuate.” She rolls her eyes.
The fact that she becomes a belligerent teenager whenever she talks about her brother is weirdly cute. But I’m not letting that distract me from my distrust of the message. “Or it could be someone trying not to give you too much information so they won’t tip off that it’snotactually Dean.”
Helen pauses in front of the room door and turns to face me. “You think it might be a trap?” At my grim nod, she nods back, but more so to herself. “I’d better change, then.”
I follow her into the room, frowning. “I tell you that we might be walking into danger, and your first thought is about your outfit?”
Helen gestures down to herself. “It’s not the most practical outfit to get ambushed in. Imagine being tied up in all this fishnet, helpless.”
Oh, I’m imagining it now, all right, but I don’t think Helen and I are quite on the same page with the visions that concept brings to mind.Someday, I tell myself before I can get too far off track. She’s still a virgin, for goodness’ sake. And if there’s any life motto I live by, it’s that you don’t spring bondage-play on unsuspecting virgins.
“Change,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Quickly.”
As she heads into the bathroom to put on the clothes the Deltas had delivered back to our hotel, I’m half tempted to leave her here, go scout out room 508 for myself. Maybe it’s a shady mobster, waiting to pounce on Helen and use her as bait. Or maybe it really is Dean, and this case will almost be over.
Hard to say which is the more comforting option.
