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Ben worked with them too, accessing security cameras and all the video feeds where she might have shown up.
And all I’ve done is make macarons and have my brains fucked out.
“What are you talking about? Why do you look so scandalized?” I ask around a mouthful of cookie.
“I think he’s a detective,” she whispers. “And he’s super hot. And old.”
“Old? What do you mean by old?” I ask.
“He’s in his forties or something—hey!” she makes a face as I sling a piece of cookie at her.
“I’m almost thirty, you little shit,” I growl at her. “Watch who you call old.”
Our friendship has grown, and we have a comfortable banter, but having April here would definitely balance us out.
Wiping my hands of crumbs, I start to head up to the register, but almost freeze in shock.
Oh, come on.
Dressed in dark jeans, a black t-shirt and a hooded leather jacket, I could almost bet money he knows Landon and River. He has his hands in his pockets and an air of superiority to him.
This man has power.
His scent is a low note of dark chocolate mixed with an undercurrent of cognac—dark, mysterious, and warm.
A perfect complement to Landon and River.
His hair is dark blonde, almost shoulder length and messily tousled. His beard is slightly darker, with hints of grey in it.
“Hi there,” I say politely, keeping my customer service voice on, just in case he’s here for entirely different reasons. “What can I do for you?”
The question seems to catch him on off guard, and it gives me a moment to gaze into his grey, tired eyes.
But this is a different expression than River’s.
This is the face of someone who looks like they haven’t slept in years, not just mere days.
As if he’s carrying a heavy weight all by himself.
Still, it doesn’t distract from his good looks.
It only makes him more mysterious.
“You’re Skylar,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. The bass is delightful to my ears; sexy, and deep.
I nod. “Are you Landon’s friend?” I ask. “He mentioned something about you, I think.”
I rack my brain. Sometime during my Heat, Landon had said something about a retired private detective…
The Alpha scoffs. “Not his friend, no. But we did work together a few years ago,” he confirms. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Nervous energy bubbles in my chest.
“Of course,” I say automatically. “Just give me one moment, please.”
I walk into the back, untie my apron, and do my best to brush the flour off my pants.
If we’re going to talk about April, I need to let him know I’m serious.
