He moved around her and took a seat at his desk. She didn’t even watch him move, just heard his soft steps on the carpet floor. Her gaze stay glued to the thick-paned glass, which made everything on the outside look milky and blurred, sinister.

“Vanessa.”

She jumped, then looked at him. She hated the look on his face. The concern. It made her feel like a crazy person whom he couldn’t dare leave alone for a minute without doing something nutty.

“Yeah?”

“Just give me a minute and I’ll get you out of here. You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”

She took a deep breath and let it out. The man had tracked down kidnappers just to save her. He’d killed them with his freaking hands. Yes, she knew he could be dangerous, and yes she trusted, so she nodded.

What she soon realized as she crossed her legs into an Indian-style position was that Brayden’s sense of time was way off. He poured over papers, his brow furrowed deep, occasionally scribbling down notes in a small black notebook as the hour hand on the clock on the wall ticked by. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even make a sound except when he flipped a page over or tucked it behind the rest of the stack.

Her skin felt itchy. She couldn’t stop scratching her nails across her arms. Pink lines had already started to appear across her forearms like she’d been under some kind of animal attack. Every few seconds or so, it seemed, she found herself staring at that door waiting to see if the figure would appear again. But it didn’t. He didn’t.

Seething inside, she scrubbed a hand through her hair and tugged until the strands pulled along her scalp nearing the point of pain—then she pulled harder until spikes of pain exploded along her skull. Her heart rate calmed then and her body relaxed, some.

Sighing, she looked back at Brayden and found him staring intently at her. A flush came over her. Had he just seen her childish little tug-of-hair bit? His eyes flicked up to her hair and she gulped. Yes, yes he did.

“All right, let’s get out of here.”

She was out of her seat and waiting at the door in a flash. “God, I feel like I’ve been cramped up in here all day.” Looking back at the clock, she moaned. More like three hours. Brayden’s sense of timing was way off.

He shoved the files back into the folder then led her out of the office. She glanced behind them but found only an empty hall with shiny white floors that looked freshly cleaned and buffed. No mysterious man waiting for her at the end of the hallway.

Cool air greeted her outside. It felt like a breath of fresh air after the stifling pounding of the A/C unit in the office. “Did you find out anything interesting?” she asked.

He didn’t answer for a moment. At the SUV parked in the lot, he opened her door and let her climb in. Only after he climbed in and took off did he answer. “The first car that hit Daniel was a hit and run. It happened late last night. Two witnesses saw it happen, but said it was too dark to get a license plate number. Only recalled that it was a ‘dark car’. The second car that hit him had been an accident from all accounts. The woman who’d done it is human with a husband, small house, and four kids. Paperwork says she slammed on the brakes as soon as she saw Daniel get hit. But the car who hit him sped off fast, and even hitting her brakes, it wasn’t enough to stop her in time. She ran him over.”

Vanessa’s stomach rolled with a curling queasiness. “God, that’s awful. That poor woman.”

“Reports said they had a hard time talking to her. She was nearly incoherent from crying. We’ll go have a talk with her soon.”

Vanessa's gaze slammed to his. “Say what? Why? After what she went through?”

He nodded and his voice grew harder. “Yes, we have to. Or rather, I have to. I need to talk to her myself. What kind of food do you like?” he asked.

The quick change of topic sent her fumbling. “Um, Mexican is pretty great.”

He nodded. A few minutes later, he pulled into a brightly lit and colorful restaurant. A folksy trumpet blared an uppity beat over the speakers outside. The aromas of spicy meat, corn, and flour instantly brought a smile to her a face and a growl to her stomach.

“Do you think he’s trying to cover this whole thing up since you’re looking into it?”

He grabbed her hand making her stomach clench with something warm and exciting. His was so much bigger, stronger than her. His palms were slightly coarse, his skin not quite as warm as hers, but still warm enough she’d like to cuddle against him and just let him hold her. Her stomach dancing with excited nerves when he threaded their fingers together. When his thumb made a pass across hers, her breath stuttered.

“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

An hour later, she was fed. No, stuffed more like, with refried beans, chicken and beef enchiladas and a lot of extra guacamole and cheese. She’d even ordered a strawberry margarita under Brayden’s warning eyes. She’d hesitated, but ordered it anyway. She had one life to live, might as well live it up. And, by God, did she make the right choice. That margarita was delicious! She finished the whole thing while gobbling up her enchiladas in record time.

“Oh, my God, thisish sogood,” she mumbled with a mouth full of food.

Brayden watched her but didn’t say anything. With the last bite gone, she fell back in the padded seat and pressed a hand to her belly. Amazing, but apparently food had the ability to make everything seem so much better than it really was. Like she was under some kind of food high, because she couldn’t help smiling at Brayden. Her shoulders sagged, beyond relaxed, and her whole body had the lithe, puddingy feeling to it, like she had too much water in her.

“I feel great.”

“That’s the alcohol speaking.”

She leaned an elbow on the table, grinning madly and rested her chin on her hand. She loved the two points at the top of his lip, the long path of his nose. “Oh, really? And it doesn’t happen to be because I just ate the best enchiladas ever?”

He didn’t crack a smile. “I’m sure they tasted good, but no, it’s the alcohol. The margaritas here are somewhat famous for having a good bit of alcohol in them.”

She closed her eyes and slumped in her seat. “Mmm and damn good, too.”

She must have had her eyes closed for more than just a second. A warm hand curled around her shoulder, and a finger slipped across her collarbone in a single caress. Her eyes jerked open, then up to find Brayden there. And she’d never heard him move.

“Come on, it’s time to get out of here.”

She took his hand so he could help her up, which was good, because apparently she needed it. The room spun a full 180-degrees before it settled back again. And she could still feel his touch on her bare skin, minutes after he paid and tugged her out of the restaurant. She hopped into the car, bouncing in her seat with her hands tucked under her thighs. Brayden’s big body curled in next to her and she wished there wasn’t a console separating them. A pretty night like this, with good food and booze in her belly, she wanted to curl up against him with his arm wrapped around her shoulders and her head on his shoulder and just drive.

Of course, that was crazy thinking. They took off down the road with him firmly stuck in his seat, minus the seatbelt, and her firmly in hers, plus seatbelt. Lykaens could take a good beating, but they weren’t as impermeable to damage as vampires were. They lived long lives if some untimely death didn’t catch them, but even they needed seatbelts. A shiver raced through her. Her cousins had seen just how fast a car crash could steal life away when they lost their parents.

“I’m calling your father in the morning, then we’ll go see the human from the accident.” He flicked a glance at her and his brows pulled low. “Why are you staring at me?”