Page 69 of Dead Vengeance

“And it’s his own fault.”

“Also true,” he concurs with a frown.

I grab my coat as a sign we should go, and he does the same with his, unthinkingly, easily led. Like his mind is somewhere else. Yet he keeps close, walking quietly down the hall, out the front doors.

I suppose it’s straight to my car, then home. But it feels like there’s something in the air between us—something that needs to be said. If only I knew what.

I guess I’ll apologise again. Ask him to quit again. Not that I want him to. But two dead colleagues in two days? It’s not good odds for Liam. What if something happens to me and I’m not there to help?

“Can I ask you something?” Liam says, cutting straight into my increasingly hopeless thoughts.

“Of course you can.” I try to sound more confident than I feel while I’m miserable about probably having to lie to him again. And again.

“It’s, um…” His shoulders rise as the evening wind whips around us. His coat looks thin, made for the autumn sunshine when he arrived this morning, not these evenings of waiting in ERs until the sun has set. “It’s a few things, actually. Do you have a minute?”

Almost definitely shouldn’t. Not if it’s going to actually be several minutes of me trying to sidestep every question.

Yet I hear myself say, “Of course.”

“Okay.” He searches the pavement, as if the question he needs to ask might be written there. Then another breeze rips into us, and he visibly shudders with it. “I’m not sure where to start.”

I could take him to the car. To the cold car. And sit inside, and drive fast, and shut him down the second we arrive at his door.

But the thing is, I do want to know what he’s going to say. And I have so many things I want to ask him too. About his brother.

Searching around for a bench or a shelter out of the wind, my eyes are drawn to the warm lights and shining signs of an old pub down the street. It looks cosy. It looks damn cosy. And turns out, I’m actually starving now I think about it. Which means Liam must be too, strapping man that he is. “I’ll talk if you come to the pub with me?”

At least I know that’s put some pink into his cheeks, even if it’s not as much as the fireplace will.

His voice wavers a little when he confirms, “The pub?”

Watch me keep this super casual. “I’m starving. And it’s freezing. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Though he doesn’t sound too sure. But then, “Yeah,” he says a little more firmly, adding that shy smile of his. “It’s… very okay.”

Have I mentioned that smile is an absolute killer? If I hadn’t already decided I definitely will not be asking him out, this night could possibly go a very different way.

And I’m not asking him out. I’m not. This is strictly about stodgy food and a quick drink… with this incredibly hot man… which… could be worse…

We’re inside before either of us can think twice about it, our bodies propelling us faster than our thoughts, desperate for fire. And the place is… Well, it’s adorable. Classic old London pub on a quiet weeknight. A few people in for after-work drinks, talking loudly at the large tables up the back, which leaves a small, quiet spot by the fireplace free.

I virtually shove Liam into it, asking him to mind it while I order, as much to get him warm as to snaffle the prime table for us.

A few seconds later, I’m back, having to pull off my coat because the flames are so bright, the logs crackling away merrily.

It would be so nice on another day. Could be so perfect for a date. If only this could be a date.

But it can’t, so… “What did you want to talk about?”

Straight to the point, cut through any possible flirtations.

He puts down his beer, focuses his eyes on me, quite intently, and states, “I want to know what that thing showed you in hallucinations.”

My heart skips a beat, my stomach clenching in warning. “Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

“I told you everything I know last night.”