Page 21 of Untamed Sinner

I’m annoying but I’m not uncouth, so I set the donut on the plate, watching out of the corner of my eye as he sets his mug down and takes the chair across from me.

Aware of his eyes on me, I take another big bite of donut, making an exaggerated sex-hum as I chew.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he says suddenly.

I swallow and take a sip of coffee before I answer. “What? The donut?”

“The rainbow sprinkles.”

“It’s a donut, not a personality test, Harry.”

“Harry?” He raises his brow.

“I’m trying to guess your first name.” I shrug. “If my last name was Hendricks, I could see naming my kid Harry. It’s got a nice ring, don’t you think?”

He gestures to the notebook with his chin. “You want to get started or you want to joke around?”

“Let’s get started, Harry.” I push it toward him. "I found it in Turner's house five weeks ago. Most of it is documentation. Names, dates, locations. Presumably girls who were trafficked through his network over the past decade."

Hendricks opens the notebook, his expression unreadable as he scans the pages. His fingers are careful, methodical. I watch him work, noting the way his jaw tightens when he reaches certain entries.

"The last page." I push the rest of the donut away and grip my cup. "That's the problem."

He flips to it and studies the photo of the redheaded girl with blue eyes. I stare at him, wondering what he sees when he looks at her. Probably age, facial geometry, and a dozen other details that his freakishly analytical brain catalogs. I doubt it’s what I see: a young woman with a secret smile who doesn’t know that her future is threatened.

"No name," he says.

"No name. No date. No location. Just her face, her age, and her measurements."

He flips the page to look after it and then turns it back to her picture. "You think she's still alive."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "The date listed is seven days away, and there’s no stamp."

Hendricks goes back a few pages. “We’ll assume the date means what you think it means until we prove otherwise.”

Something in my chest loosens. I didn’t realize how much I’d expected him to tell me I was reaching. “With Turner out of the picture, you’d think she’s safe, but I need to be sure.”

Hendricks leans back, staring at me like he’s trying to see every layer of my soul. “I’ll check to see if Turner and Ashford are connected in any way.”

“I haven’t found anything conclusive. Maybe Ashford was a client." I watch his face, looking for a reaction. "I can’t think of any other reason he’d want me besides being worried I’ll come after him."

Hendricks is quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the screen. Then he looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't quite read.

"You use sarcasm as a defense mechanism," he says out of left field.

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"The jokes. The attitude. You do it when you're uncomfortable." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "You've been doing it since you walked into this kitchen."

He’s caught me flat-footed. I literally have no idea what to say. I open and close my mouth like a guppy for several seconds before I get a hold of myself. "Maybe I'm just naturally charming."

He snorts. "You're naturally a lot of things. Charming isn't one of them."

I should be offended. Instead, I'm annoyed that he's right. "Fine. You want me to drop the act? Here it is. I don't like needing your help. I don't like being in your house. And I really don't like the fact that you're sitting across from me looking like”—I motion in his general direction—"that, while I'm trying to focus on finding this girl."

"Looking like what?” He tips his head like he’s mildly confused.

I gesture at him again. "You know what."