“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“I just don’t get that vibe from him.”
“You don’t get ‘that vibe’? What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “I’m a pig shifter, so I get some pig intelligence along with the human part. And pigs are better at reading people than you give them credit for. I agree there’s something shady about Reg, but I’m not getting ‘crazed serial killer’ from him. Now, if you told me he was a con man, sure. I could see that. But he’s not planning on blowing up the North Mountain Pig Show.”
I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear him tell me how impressed he was with my deductive reasoning and investigative skills until he said that. “You can’t possibly know that.”
There’s a flicker of sympathy in his eyes when they meet mine, and I hate that more than potentially being wrong about Reg. “You’re right,” he says softly. “I can’t know for sure. But I can tell you that I’m rarely wrong about someone.”
“But someone who was a powerful witch could use magic to keep you from picking up on their intent. That’s possible, right?”
He nods. “Yes. But maintaining that level of shielding spell for long periods of time would be incredibly draining. Reg would be exhausted after a few hours. And I think we both saw how not exhausted he was.”
I close my laptop, sitting there with my hands spread lightly on the lid as I consider this. Reg had certainly seemed…energeticthat afternoon. But why would he lie about who he is? And the timing is too perfect to ignore.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I still think I need to talk to him tomorrow.”
Grayson shrugs. “You definitely should. Because you never know, right?”
“Is that what you’ve learned from all your years of being law enforcement-adjacent?”
I like the way his jaw is shadowed with stubble. “People have a way of surprising you,” he says, leaning forward. For a moment, I think he’s trying to get close to my burger. But then his eyes meet mine, and there’s no trace of food mischief in them. “I don’t like to make my mind up about a person too much before I really get to know them.”
Damn it.
I’m going to end up sleep-cuddling this man again.
CHAPTER 10
After a restless night in which I do everything in my power not to drift over to Grayson’s side of the bed—which means I barely get any sleep—I drag myself out of bed way too early and head to the diner for breakfast, where I finally get my first real stroke of luck.
Through the front window, I see Reg sitting at a table. Alone. And, even better, he’s in a corner booth, with his back against the far wall. That means if I confront him and things get dicey, he’ll have to go through me to escape.
Not that I’m feeling on top of my game at the moment. I really, really wish I’d been able to get some good sleep last night.
But I don’t have the luxury of waiting for a better time. Squaring my shoulders, I march through the door. Reg glances my way as the bell above the door announces my arrival, and I note the hope on his face fading away as he sees it’s not who he was hoping for.
It’s not the first time a man has been disappointed that I wasn’t someone else, and I’m here in a professional capacity, potentially interrogating a highly dangerous suspect, and so I shouldn’t feel a slight pang that it’s not me he’s waiting for. And of course I don’t care if Reg wishes I were a different person.
It’s justeveryonewishes I was a different person. There’s no one sitting around looking hopeful that I’m the person about to enter the room.
Jensen, seriously. You have to focus.
Right. Reg has already turned his attention back to his breakfast, though he looks up when I approach his table, a vaguely polite smile crossing his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t remember your name. I only know you as the sad divorcée.”
“I’m not divorced,” I say before I can stop myself. I drop into the seat across from him. “But you don’t need to worry about that.”
I have to hand it to him—he quickly covers up the look of surprise at my joining him. It flickers across his face for the briefest of moments, and then he’s all smarmy smiles over his egg white omelet. “I generally don’t make a habit of sleeping with married women,” he says, looking over my shoulder toward the door one last time just in case someone better has come along in the last three seconds. “But I can make an exception.”
“I’m not married either. I—” I take a breath. This is what lack of sleep does to me. I can’t let him flirt me off my guard. “I’m not here because I want to sleep with you. I’m here to find out why you lied.”
In an instant, all of Reg’s flirty tricks—the smile, the relaxed posture—disappear. He picks up his fork and takes his time cutting off a bit of egg. “What makes you think I lied?”
“I looked into you,” I say, watching him closely for any sign that he’s about to blast some magic spell into my chest. But all he does is scoop up the newly cut bit of omelet with his fork and shove it in his mouth, chewing very, very slowly. “You’ve never launched a successful app. You’re not some amazing businessman. And you don’t have business partners that you’reshowing pigs with. Your rich father cut you off, and you’ve been drifting ever since.”
