Page 33 of Keeping Knight

“You? How is it your fault? You didn’t write the damn thing.”

“I know.” Ruby pats my hand. “Don’t get mad. It happens. I’m not thrilled about it, of course, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“I’m not mad,” I reply.

“No?” Her eyebrow quirks up. “I can practically see the steam coming from your ears.”

“Well.” I unclench my teeth and flex my fingers. “Maybe I’m kind of mad. That’s bullshit, Rue. You did your best. And now this jerk is blaming you because his book isn’t good enough?” A thought strikes me. “Did he threaten you?”

“No, he didn’t threaten me,” Ruby answers. “He just said he wanted a refund. And an apology. I gave him both.”

“What? You refunded his money?”

“It was just easier, Micah. I can afford to lose a little money. It’s not a big deal, considering.”

It seems like a pretty big deal to me. But if Ruby wants to let it go… “Fine,” I mutter. “But I want his name. Just to run a check on him. Make sure he’s not up to anything.”

“I’m not sure,” she starts. “Everything is supposed to be confidential.”

I turn her hand over and wrap mine around it. “It will be. Rogue will do a little research, is all. Chances are, there’s nothing. And your client will never know.”

Ruby looks at me for a few seconds. Her forehead creases. “Okay,” she says. “I guess it makes sense. Since we have to look into everyone.”

I hate the worried lines on her face. They shouldn’t be there. Ruby should be smiling. Laughing. Given that it’s the weekend, she should be relaxing instead of feeling anxious about crappy clients and piece of shit monsters who want to kill her.

“How do you feel about stopping for today?” I ask. “It’s past six. Time to think about dinner.”

She glances at her laptop. “I guess I could. But you said you have a lot of work to do. I don’t want you stopping on my account.”

I do have a lot of work. Between conference calls, updates from my friends, online research, and catching up on the stuff I missed while I’ve been taking care of Ruby, I could easily keep going until midnight and still not have everything done.

But I did make a lot of progress. Or, rather, my friends and I did. While I’ve been staying at the condo to keep an eye on Ruby, Houdini, Jester, and Wraith went back to her building to put a metric shit-ton of security cameras up. If anyone even breathes near Ruby’s apartment, we’ll know. And I’ve been helping Rogue and his team with the investigative part of things—checking alibis and running background checks on potential suspects.

So far, we haven’t found much. Ruby’s building only had security cameras installed in the lobby, the mailroom, and the storage space in the basement, which wasn’t much help. We’re looking into all the residents, but with over a hundred of them, it’s a slow process. If Ruby were friends with any of her neighbors, that might have been a place to start, but she said she’s only on cordial terms with them.

As for alibis? Liam and Sylvia both have one. Does that mean they couldn’t have paid someone to cover for them? Or hired a hitman to do their dirty work? Of course not. That’s why those two are still at the top of our list.

“I can just grab something quick,” Ruby adds. “A sandwich or something. I can bring one to you while you’re working.”

Yes, I could keep working. But I’d much rather spend the evening with Ruby. I can always hop back on the computer once she’s gone to bed, if I’m really feeling motivated.

“No, I want to stop,” I tell her. Standing, I extend my hand to help her up from the bed. “I’m hungry. Not for sandwiches. For actual dinner. And you need to eat something substantial, too.”

“I’ve been eating,” Ruby protests.

“Oatmeal and soup aren’t substantial. Neither are pudding and yogurt. You need something to keep your energy up. Something with protein and plenty of vitamins to help you heal.”

Ruby’s gaze moves across my face. “You need something substantial, too. Since you’re still healing.”

I’d hardly count the two tiny cuts on my face as anything I need to heal from. I’ve gotten worse shaving. But I know Ruby’s upset about me getting hurt at all, and no matter how many times I’ve reassured her that I’m fine, she won’t let it go.

So I just smile at her and say, “Then we both need something good for dinner.” Keeping hold of her hand, I lead her from the bedroom and into the hallway. “How about pasta? That’s still soft. But we can add beef or chicken to it for protein.”

“What about that pizza place? The one you mentioned the other day? With the best pizza in the entire city?”

“But your throat⁠—”

“Is a lot better. It barely hurts to swallow anymore.” When I don’t answer right away, she adds more quietly, “If you’d rather not, that’s okay.”