to both of us since I’m the one who filed the report.” Steel underscored the man’s superficially congenial words. “Clearly it was a misunderstanding.”
Dylan shifted his cold gaze to meet Ethan’s heated one. “Then why was the report filed?”
“Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.”
“Not good enough. I’d like details.” He looked at the woman. “Do you want to give them to me, or shall I take my pound of flesh from your best friend?” Sure the exaggerated air quotes were another jab, but the guy was pissing him off.
“That won’t be necessary.” She ran a hand—a trembling hand—around the back of her neck.
Bingo. “Somewhere private, then.” He swept out an arm. “Shall we?”
“I’ll donate that pound of flesh. I filed the report, so I’ll answer your questions.” Ethan dropped an arm over the woman’s shoulders and steered her down the hallway, dipping his face toward hers. “My office or yours?”
The woman looked up at him, brows furrowed. “Mine, I guess.”
Dylan followed, silently weighing his options. There were several ways he could approach the situation, none of them ideal. Every scenario involved first dealing with her self-appointed guardian. Friend. Riiiiight. Best friend. He snorted.
She glanced back at him, teeth worrying her bottom lip.
He drew in a breath, opened his mouth to speak and stopped, jaw hanging open like an eejit’s. A soft brush of vanilla wafted around him. Lavender wove its way through the dominant scent until the two were indistinguishable. His mind shut down as lust settled into the driver’s seat. The click of her shoes on the tiled floors drew his gaze to her feet. “You always wear stilettos to work?” he asked softly.
“No.” The response, quick and unguarded, returned color to her cheeks. She looked so vital in that moment. Alive. Innocent.
His lips thinned. Can’t be my concern.
They took the elevator to the first floor. Tension wound around him as he followed the pair across the crowded lobby and through a lush and winding wing decorated with deep colors and saltwater fish tanks. The woman unlocked her office and stepped inside, Kemp hot on her heels. That left Dylan to follow on his own.
He did, letting the heavy door swing shut with an authoritative whump. Leaning against it, he surveyed the small room. The door was the only entrance. Or exit. Excellent.
Kemp pulled out the executive’s chair on the far side of the desk and saw the woman seated before squaring off with Dylan. “I filed the missing person report. Since Kennedy’s obviously not missing anymore, tell me what we need to do to close the file.”
Dylan zeroed in on one word—anymore. He crossed his ankles and casually studied the toes of his boots. “Where were you, Ms. Jefferson?”
“Call me Kennedy. Please.”
Not happening. Making this any more personal would destroy what little sense of self he retained. Lifting his chin, he peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Where’d you run off to...Ms. Jefferson?”
Her nostrils flared, eyes glittering. “I didn’t run—”
“Truth.” The barked command was all the louder for the heavy silence that followed.
A sultry laugh escaped her. “So demanding.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. The voice that had come out of her mouth wasn’t hers.
“Care to explain that little trick?” He watched her. Waited. When she didn’t answer, he pushed off the door and slipped a hand behind his back to grip his primary weapon. “I asked you a question, Ms. Jefferson.”
Those blue eyes were wide with undisguised fear. “I didn’t mean to...that is, I... I’m...sorry.” The last word was ground out.
“Accepted. Now, stop stalling and answer me.” His arched brow issued a silent challenge to her burgeoning temper.
Kemp stepped up beside her. “You’re badgering her like she’s guilty of something.”
Point to her BFF. He answered the man without looking away from the woman. “I won’t leave without carrying out my duty.”
Kemp dropped a hand on her shoulder and stared at him, considering. “I already told you the whole thing was a mistake. She was...”
“Sleeping,” the woman blurted out. “Heavily.”
Dylan knew his smile didn’t reach the cold void of his eyes. “Heavy enough you didn’t hear your phone when I called? My knocks at your door when I came by?”
She scrubbed her palms against her thighs. “Right.”
He blinked slowly. “Sounds odd. Unnatural, even.”
A raspy growl slipped between her lips.
Tightening his grip on his weapon, he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
The woman pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. “Not me, not me, not me,” she whispered.
“Kennedy?” Running his hands down her arms, Kemp gripped her hands. “Talk to me, honey.”
Fool. “I’m ready to finish this.” Dylan knew the woman heard him when she darted a glance in his direction. Pupils enlarged, her chest heaved as he watched her fight to regain control.
“Noted,” she said in that odd voice, dipping her chin sharply.
So he waited. Seconds turned into minutes. At no point did he relax his grip on his weapon.
Kemp shot him a hard look. “I’d appreciate it if we could finish this later.”
Dylan’s free hand fisted. “She and I haven’t even started.”
The woman looked up again, the blue of her irises all but gone. She stood with exaggerated care. “Why are you here?”
Gods, that voice. It reeked of violent deeds done in the dark. He fought to squash the urge to claw at his skin and dislodge her words, words that stuck to his skin like poison-tipped cockleburs. Never had he heard anything like it.
Stepping closer, she smiled. “And now it seems I’ve asked you a question. Hesitation won’t be tolerated.”
Kemp reached for her, trying to pull her back.
“This is between the woman and me. It has nothing to do with you,” Dylan snapped. The man would back off or Dylan would be forced to divide his attentions, half on the woman and half on the Druidic arts to compel the man to leave. “If you have any sense of self-preservation, you’ll back off.”
“Back off, my ass.” Kemp put himself between them, the woman at his back. “She matters to me.”
May the gods save him from heroes. “More than your own life? Because if the
