3. Diem

3

Diem

C autiously, carefully, I let go of the sign, and for a brief, gratifying moment, it hung on the nail. Tension left my shoulders. Air escaped my lungs. I almost had time to take joy in my accomplishment.

Then it crashed to the floor.

“Motherfucking piece of shit.” I kicked the plastic sign, sending it flying down the hallway along the shit-brown, mildew-scented carpet toward the stairwell. “Fuck it. I don’t need a fucking sign. If people don’t know who the fuck I am, they shouldn’t be knocking on my fucking door. Fuuuck!”

It wasn’t like anyone randomly showed up off the street looking for my help anyway. It wasn’t like business was booming. Hell, the ad I’d taken out in the Toronto Sun a few weeks back had been a waste of a hundred bucks.

I reentered the office and forcefully slammed the door, surprised it didn’t come off its hinges. At least there was no more rattling sign to crash to the ground. Good. How was that for satisfaction?

Returning to my desk, done with office repairs for the day, I glared at the new-employee screening I’d been working on for a private security company downtown. Their fifteen potential hires required extensive background evaluations, including driving histories, personal, financial, and criminal checks, all so the company could have peace of mind when deciding who to hire.

I’d worked for the company before doing the same thing. It was mindless busy work I didn’t enjoy. It left me deskbound and agitated, constantly looking for something else to keep me busy. Hence, office repairs—until that went south, and I ventured back to my desk.

I popped a piece of Trident and munched it obnoxiously. No more Nicorette if I could help it. The nicotine cravings had mostly leveled out. Unless I was stressed, but I’d been doing my best to manage those ups and downs with extra therapy and long gym sessions.

I chicken-pecked the keyboard, squinting at the bright screen in the dimly lit room. The lamp in the corner had been knocked over during my encounter with Faye a few months ago, shattering the bulb and bending the frame. I had yet to replace it. New furniture hadn’t made the list. Everything within the four walls of my office was junk. The place was falling apart. Not worth the rent I paid. The overhead light was down to its last forty-watter, and the cover was so thick with dust it was a wonder I could see anything beyond the computer screen.

Weak sunlight bled through the filmy window, highlighting neglect in every corner. Spiderwebs clung to the long-dead potted plant atop the rusty, good-for-nothing file cabinet. Scratches and scuffs littered the wooden wall paneling. Stains coated the worn industrial carpet, and random chips and holes marked the drywall and ceiling, a gift left behind by Faye’s erratic shooting when she’d tried to kill me. I’d repaired the worst of them.

The office was a reflection of my life, dreary and uncared for. What did it matter? I had no one to impress. No one gave a shit about me or how I lived. The only person who had ever offered an ounce of love or sympathy was slowly losing her mind to dementia, and it hurt like a rusty nail digging into flesh and bone.

Rubbing a hand over my stubbled jaw, I scowled and skimmed the form I’d pulled up on the computer, looking for incriminating words and scanning for anything the company would consider disqualifying.

Ordinarily, I didn’t work on the weekend, but if I didn’t find something to do with myself that wasn’t punching a bag for eight solid hours at the gym or pushing weights until my muscles screamed, I would end up back outside Tallus’s apartment, and it was the last place I wanted to be.

My habit was getting out of hand. Every day, I was one day closer to him calling the cops and having my ass locked up. Tallus was too smart to be oblivious.

Besides, I didn’t want to be there. Not today. His fuck buddy must have spent the night last night. When I’d left Tallus’s around one, the guy was still there, and I was sick and tired of envisioning Tallus having hot, sticky sex with someone else. The last thing I wanted was to see Mr. Fuck Buddy Memphis wandering into the street at dawn, looking disheveled and satiated with his clothing askew.

No fucking thank you.

He’s just a friend, my ass. Friend with benefits. Did I look stupid? Apparently.

Not that Tallus was mine.

Not that I had any claim on the unforgettable, sexy-as-sin records clerk with the come-fuck-me glasses that turned my blood to lava and tied my tongue in knots.

I didn’t. He could sleep with anyone he wanted. I’m sure I was nothing more than an insignificant blip on his radar. An annoyance.

Why he hadn’t told me to go to hell yet was anybody’s guess. I expected it every time I wound up at his door, drunk off my ass and looking for a fuck, every time I left his apartment as a failed excuse for a human being who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

I shook thoughts of a naked Tallus from my mind and refocused on the lines of text filling the computer screen, drumming fingers on the desk and every so often spinning the neon-green fidget spinner I’d bought to appease my doctor.

Fine, it worked, whatever. Who cared? Stupid kids’ toy.

The next person on the list to investigate was Lisa Phoenix from York. Lisa had accumulated several parking tickets— tsk, tsk —was PTA at her daughter’s school— Good for you, Lisa. How noble —and had credit card debt to the tune of eight thousand one hundred and seventy dollars, on which she struggled to make her minimum payments.

“Bad girl, Lisa. Those creditors are going to ride your ass soon.” I scratched a note on a piece of paper.

Lisa’s ex-husband, a corrections officer at a youth detention center, paid her pitiful child support, considering his income. “Asshole,” I mumbled. “You’re a real fucking winner.”

More scrolling. More reading. More writing shit down.

It was a wonder my eyes didn’t cross as I skimmed information, took notes, and performed new searches.

Forty minutes later, I’d made all the necessary checks on Lisa Phoenix and moved on to the last guy on the list, Blair Nottingham. A half-hour later, I was done with him too. I wrote up the required report for the security company, emailed it, and was about to create an invoice for my troubles when a rap sounded at the door to my office.

Scowling at the scuffed wooden surface, I considered ignoring whoever had come knocking. It was the weekend, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t technically work on the weekend. But jobs had been fewer and farther between lately, and I had bills to pay. Unlike little miss Lisa, I knew what kind of trouble debt collectors could cause, and the last thing I wanted was to tango with the likes of them.

“What?” I snapped and immediately bit my tongue. Cursing my instinctive reaction, I checked my tone, cleared my throat, and tried again. “Come in. It’s open.”

I prayed to the gods it was someone looking for me to do tracking or surveillance. I’d give anything to chase down a bail jumper. Fuck it, I’d even take a cheating spouse at this point. Anything to get me out of the office and away from the fucking computer. Investigating fraud and performing security checks had been the name of the game lately, and I was tired of it.

The door pushed inward, and a second later, my wet dream, the star of all my pornographic fantasies, and the reason for my eternally sleepless nights walked in wearing a knee-weakening smirk that oozed sultry mischief and made my breath catch.

Tallus fucking Domingo.

In the flesh.

At my office.

What was he doing here?

My heart jackrabbited, and I sat straighter, skin on fire, hands instantly clammy. I fumbled my pen.

“Hey, Guns.”

Words escaped me, and all I could do was blink and stare as a million different reasons for his visit shook my brain to a pulp. I wasn’t conversational or dialogically proficient on a good day with a regular person, but Tallus Domingo? The man’s presence crippled me in ways that were embarrassing and impossible to explain. No one made me feel more inferior.

I’d spent ten months trying to shake him from my system.

Ten. Fucking. Months.

And I’d failed. Miserably.

“What… Why are you here?” I managed to eke out after a prolonged silence where Tallus seemed to revel in my suffering if the wide smile on his too-perfect face said anything.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He swayed once, struck a pose, and touched the side of his dark frames. “I wore my glasses. I know they give you a raging hard-on. Thought maybe you’d wanna fuck.” He arched a brow in question. “Isn’t that how things go between us?”

Heat climbed my neck, and I didn’t know where to look. He was joking. I knew he was joking, likely making fun of my perpetual ineptitude, but I couldn’t control my reaction.

Squirming, I tried and failed to say something in return, something smart and witty and worthy of Tallus’s spark of a personality, but all I managed to do was gawp like a fish before growling under my breath.

Tallus chuckled. “Oh babe, you are so uncomfortable right now. It’s painful to watch. By the way,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder and changing the subject faster than I could keep up. “Why is your sign halfway down the hall?”

I glanced at the door. “It fell.”

Tallus’s brows rose. “And ran away?” He made the motion with his fingers, propped his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side before adding, “Were you yelling at it again?”

“Yes… because it wouldn’t stay on the fucking wall.”

“It’s the door slamming, sweetie.”

“I know.”

“Too much hostility.”

“I know.”

“You should take it down a notch.”

I stayed quiet.

“It’s concerning when inanimate objects retreat for the good of their health.” He puckered his lips to the side with a quizzical expression. “Huh. I wonder what that says about me?”

I didn’t understand the question, so I sat—awkwardly—and waited for him to clarify, doing all I could not to stare at his mouth.

He didn’t explain. Tallus was a runaway train, leaving me floundering to keep up. I was convinced he did it to keep me on my toes.

The suave younger man strutted across the room like a runway model and planted his far-too-perfect ass on the edge of the desk—on my side of the desk. In my space. Too close. Always too close.

I scooted back a few inches. The wheels on the chair squeaked and protested. But Tallus was having none of it. He hooked an ankle around the arm of the chair and dragged me back. “Nuh-uh. Don’t run away.”

“What do you want?” I swallowed a tight lump. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. To fuck.”

I held my breath, and a second later, Tallus laughed.

“Wow. I’m kidding, but the look on your face is priceless. Why is it you can show up at my house at random for a booty call, but I can’t show up at yours?”

I still didn’t respond.

“Can I show up at yours for a booty call whenever I want?”

“No.” A distinct rasp entered my tone, and the single word came out strangled.

Tallus tsked and shook his head. “And why not, Guns? Doesn’t seem fair. Booty calls should go both ways.”

“I… Because… You can’t… I need…” I growled.

Tallus chuckled. “So, let me get this straight. You can stalk me, show up at my house at random for a Charlie Chaplin fuck whenever you want, but I can’t swing by when the mood hits? Ever?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and muttered, “No,” even though I knew it was the wrong answer.

Tallus huffed, stopping short of rolling his eyes. “You’re impossible. Never mind. It’s not why I’m here. You can relax. I have a job for us. Get a pen. Take notes.”

“A… job?”

“Yes.”

“Us?”

“Yes. You and me. Us. You know, like old times when we played at being partners.”

I scowled. “But we’re not—”

“Partners. I know. I hear you. You made it abundantly clear months ago. I didn’t forget.” Tallus arched a brow. “Want the details?”

“Of?”

“The job,” he said slower. “Keep up.”

Unsure what to do, I stared. Blinked. Stared some more.

Tallus stared right back, unwavering and waiting. Way too fucking confident.

Without breaking eye contact, I reached for a pen and notepad. I hated how submissive I was in Tallus’s presence. I hated how I always floundered and scrambled to keep up. I hated the feelings of ineptness and confusion and lust that flowed through my veins when he was near.

“Go.” The word came out more guttural than articulate.

“Okay. First off, I can’t pay you, but if you agree to take this case, then you get free labor in the form of a partner, moi , which includes my undivided attention for however long it takes us to investigate. Sweet deal, huh? You can stop slinking around in the shadows, and I can stop pretending I don’t see you. We can go out for lunch, have riveting conversations, fuck if the urge arises… maybe in a bed once or twice. Have sleepovers. Whatever your stubborn heart desires. We can pretend we’re a regular old couple without any of the awkwardness, and—”

“We’re not a couple.”

“I said pretend.”

“I don’t date.”

“Relax, Guns. Neither do I. That’s not what I’m proposing. Do we have a deal?”

I wasn’t sure I understood what was happening, but I caught myself nodding like always, trapped in Tallus’s web. He was his own planet, with his own gravitational pull, and I was constantly being sucked into his orbit. It was too strong to resist.

“Do we have a deal?” he repeated.

“Yes.” Even though the mere suggestion of lunches out, conversation, and fucking in a bed sent my blood pressure through the roof.

“Good.” Tallus settled a foot on either side of the chair where I sat, nestling them against my thighs. I was trapped. He knew what he was doing and smiled.

“Uncomfortable yet?”

“Yes.”

“I like keeping you on your toes.”

A protesting rumble vibrated my chest.

Tallus was nothing but amused.

“Relax, big guy. You’re too tense. I don’t bite.” When he brushed his fingers over my shorn hair, the skin along my arms prickled. I didn’t pull away. I’d learned not to. Tallus liked the feel of my hair under his fingers. Without moving or breathing, I basked in the heat the contact stimulated in my low belly and the interest it stirred in my dick.

Every cell in my body was drawn to Tallus. No matter how stubbornly I tried to keep men out, Tallus had found a way past my barriers. Somehow, he’d wormed his way through my veins, settled deep in my core, and fused himself to my system. He was an infection, and there was no cure. I was beginning to forget what life had been like before I met him.

Those days were simpler.

Lately, I’d spent far too many nights yearning, wishing I could find a way to break down walls and tell him how his touch drove me halfway insane. More than anything, I wanted to be able to touch him back and find a way to engage without a flood of alcohol dampening the receptors in my brain. I wanted to give Tallus what he unknowingly gave me.

Comfort.

But I was not worthy.

Tallus dropped his hand and flashed the sultry smile I loved that made me weak in the knees. The one that made me stupid and agreeable to anything.

“Are you going to fill me in?” I asked.

“Yes.” He rubbed his hands together with the giddiness of a child. “I’ve made some discoveries.”

“Discoveries?”

“There’s a psychic in the city who I have reason to believe is killing people through mind control.”

I stared at the glimmer in Tallus’s eyes, waiting for the punch line, waiting for him to laugh and tell me he was joking.

He didn’t. His soft hazel eyes, framed by his come-fuck-me glasses, peered into my soul with anticipation.

“W-what?” I managed to choke.

“Okay, I know it sounds silly”—an understatement—“and my research skills aren’t in the same realm as yours, but I looked her up, and there is a string of strange deaths that follow this woman around. Back in the eighties, she and her now ex-husband worked together on a sideshow, circus act sort of thing. They traveled and performed in various city fairs, her as a psychic and him as a hypnotist. Anyhow, they were arrested in the spring of eighty-six for the suspicious death of two men in their early twenties, both who killed themselves while mind controlled .”

Tallus’s face lit up as he nodded and paused as though I was supposed to be impressed or shocked.

Oh, I was shocked, all right. Shocked he was seriously convinced any of this was real.

I grunted noncommittally and waved a hand for him to continue.

“So, the charges against them were eventually dropped, but…” He raised a finger. “I found evidence of two more suspicious suicide deaths attached to this woman. I think she’s back at it. A mind-controlling murderess like we’ve never seen.”

Again, with a dazzling smile and anticipatory look, Tallus paused.

Did he hear himself?

I didn’t respond and continued staring.

“Hello? Did you hear me? This psychic woman is claiming to cleanse auras and is successfully getting inside vulnerable people’s brains”—he tapped his temple—“and manipulating them to commit suicide.”

I kept staring.

Tallus grasped hold of my shoulders and shook me. “D! Listen to me. Memphis wants to see this woman for a reading, and I convinced him to wait a week because I wanted to talk to you first. We have to prove she’s dangerous. Hell, that psycho-psychic needs to be locked up. Her methods are genius. I mean, who would ever suspect? But she’s killing people. I know, I know, I didn’t believe this shit either when Memphis told me about her, but facts don’t lie. She has reviews, D. I read them.”

I waited for the punch line, but it was taking an eternity to arrive. It was coming, right? He couldn’t be serious. He was being funny, trying to pull a fast one and make me laugh.

But no. Something told me I was wrong.

When Tallus released my shoulders and crossed both arms over his chest—exuding an air of irritation—I shoved away from the desk and stood, scrubbing a hand over my shorn hair and aiming for the living quarters attached to my office.

“I need a minute.”

The words, you’re insane, and you have to be out of your fucking mind, and I have better things to do with my time than investigate a half-cracked theory that a psychic is killing people through mind control sat on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them and aimed for the fridge.

Do not be reactive. Control your tone. Watch your mouth.

I liked Tallus. I didn’t want to yell or insult him. I didn’t want to scare him off. In fact, I craved the idea of having an excuse to keep him around no matter how much dinners and conversations terrified me.

But was he for real? This wasn’t a case. This was ludicrous. This was something you’d see printed in the tabloids.

I stared at the empty shelves in the refrigerator, wishing a bottle of beer would magically appear. I couldn’t keep alcohol in the house because it disappeared as fast as I bought it, and it was becoming a problem. I did not want to be my father.

Slamming the door in frustration, I spun on Tallus. “You’re out of your fucking mind.” So much for holding my tongue. I paced, needing to expel pent-up energy. My living space was minimal, so I couldn’t go far.

“Will you at least look at the evidence?”

“No. You’re insane.”

Goddammit, shut up.

“Come on, D. You don’t mean that. Have an open mind. Please.” And fuck him for the pleading tone and hangdog look in his eyes. Fuck him for that sultry pout of his too-perfect lips.

I growled. “I have better things to do than investigate a half-cracked theory that a psychic is mind-controlling people into committing suicide.” I spun around and kicked the fridge before opening it, unearthing a can of Dr Pepper, and pulling the tab.

The bubbles burned my throat, but I chugged it down.

It was not satisfying. The sugary syrup hit the back of my throat, and I almost gagged before setting the can aside and swiping a hand over my mouth in disgust.

Facing off with Tallus, leveling my tone, I said, “It’s not a case. It’s a coincidence.”

Nothing I said fazed him. Tallus remained a few feet away, feet planted, hands on his hips as he gently swayed. His force field-weakening expression would eventually wear me down, and he knew it.

I growled again.

He batted his lashes.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? I’m standing here.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Please, Guns.” A smirk.

“No,” I barked with no heat.

“Pretty please.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Do it for me.”

Tallus closed the distance. He was a whole head shorter and had to peer up to maintain eye contact. Somehow, despite my size advantage, I was always the weaker one, the one who crumpled under pressure, the one who didn’t know how to stand their ground.

Tallus fucking Domingo had me wrapped around his baby finger.

“Just look into her. If you still think I’m out of my mind, I’ll go back to my little old life and leave you alone. I promise.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t want that either.

“Fine,” I mumbled inaudibly. “But it’s stupid.”

“Was that a yes?”

A rumble resonated deep in my throat. It was answer enough, and Tallus grinned and rose on his toes, pecking a soft kiss on my cheek under my eye where I wore the worst scar. “You’re the best. Thanks, D.”

“You’re a manipulative asshole.”

He chuckled. “It’s my superpower, but you love it.”

He spun on his heels and sashayed into the other room. “Come on. I’ll show you what I’ve found.”

And like the salivating, attention-starved puppy I was, I followed.

***

As I suspected, the proof Tallus had was bogus. He’d lost his marbles. What he’d discovered was two loose coincidences. Not facts.

But like the powerhouse he was, Tallus took over the desk and computer, leaving me to pull up an ugly orange plastic chair from the waiting room so I could sit beside him like an underling.

“Amber Wells is case number one. But her brother isn’t the only one convinced Madame Rowena was using mind control to manipulate her clients. Several other people claim she gets inside their heads in an invasive manner. Then, there’s this.” Tallus spun the screen so I could see the article he’d pulled up.

Before I could read the selection, Tallus barreled ahead. “Sixty-one-year-old Allan Cornell was found dead in his apartment shortly after nine on the evening of August seventh after a neighbor complained about a smell. The retired schoolteacher had taken his own life, but the scene, according to emergency responders, was disturbing .”

Tallus tapped the word on the screen as though suicides were never disturbing, and the word alone explained something I wasn’t understanding. “Although eyewitnesses wouldn’t go into details, they did share that a suicide note was discovered. Allan Cornell claimed he needed to make it stop because it was inside him. What Cornell was referring to is unknown. The police are not commenting on the possibility of enemies and don’t feel Cornell was under threat. The retired schoolteacher was not known to have suffered from dementia or any other mental health illnesses and was said to be quiet and amicable, according to his family. However, a close neighbor of the deceased told reporters Cornell had been acting out of the ordinary for several weeks, exhibiting symptoms of paranoia and distorted thinking. According to the same neighbor, Cornell’s symptoms manifested following the commencement of a new treatment plan for his rheumatoid arthritis. The police do not feel the two things are related.”

Tallus held up a finger. “Hang on. There’s more. The newspaper didn’t do a follow-up that I could find, but I came across this. It’s talking about the same person.”

He clicked over to a new article written by an honest-to-god tabloid magazine featuring the headline My Neighbor was Mind-Controlled into Killing Himself . The reporter had interviewed one of Allan Cornell’s neighbors who had embellished the idea that the retired schoolteacher was suffering paranoia and delusional thinking before his death. The neighbor suggested Cornell had been possessed and manipulated by a supernatural being. “He wasn’t okay. That’s for sure,” the neighbor was quoted as saying.

After giving me time to browse the write-up, Tallus gave me an anticipatory look, like the answers to my questions had been wrapped up with a big fat bow.

“I don’t get it.”

“Mind control. The two cases are the exact same.”

“They’re not.”

“Cornell’s symptoms manifested after he sought treatment for his arthritis.”

“No.”

“And Madame Rowena is a self-proclaimed psychic healer. Her website claims she helps people suffering from medically known ailments such as rheumatoid arthritis, and she does this by relocating an invasive spirit that has attached itself to a person’s aura.”

He said it so definitively I had to bite back a derisive snort. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“I know, I know. I told Memphis he was out of his mind, but I was wrong. This”—he tapped the article on the screen—“is exactly what happened to Amber.”

“It’s not.”

“It is… loosely. Amber saw Madame Rowena for migraines. Amber’s brother claimed his sister was acting paranoid and delusional , just like Allan. The woman got inside her head and told Amber to kill herself, the same as she did to dear old Allan. They are carbon copies of one another.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and ground my teeth. “You don’t even know if this Allan guy was seeing a psychic healer, let alone Madame What’s Her Face.”

“Um, new treatment plan. You heard me read that part, right?”

“It could have been a regular physician. You’re assuming.”

“But it’s not impossible.”

“It’s stupid. The suggestions came from a fucking tabloid and a teenager.”

Tallus tsk ed. “Don’t call me stupid. It’s rude.”

“I’m not calling you stupid. I’m calling your theory stupid.”

“I know it sounds far-fetched. I know you think I’m delusional and paranoid, but this isn’t the first time in history that mind control has been blamed for multiple deaths. In fact, it’s not the first time this woman has been accused of mind-control murder. She was arrested in the eighties for exactly this.”

I frowned, trying to recall what he’d told me earlier. Something about a sideshow fair and two dead men.

“Okay,” Tallus conceded, “the case was dismissed, but it still happened. It was a thing she was accused of, so I’m not out of my mind.”

“Tallus, no one in authority is blaming mind control for these deaths.”

“I am, and I don’t want my best friend to go anywhere near this wacky woman if she’s magically murdering people.”

A low rumble grew from deep in my chest. “You mean your fuck buddy.”

Tallus chuckled. “Yeah, D. Sure. Whatever you say. Can you help me look into this woman? I’d feel much better if we could clear this up.”

“There is no such thing as mind control.”

“Not true. I thought that as well but look.” Tallus clicked around on the computer. “Stories supporting mind control go back decades. In fact, multiple articles talk about how the CIA has been performing illegal experiments on human subjects surrounding mind control since the fifties. In some cases, on their own operatives without their consent. In fact, one of their operatives, who was ready to walk away from the job because he believed what they were doing was unethical, ended up randomly throwing himself out a window at a hotel in New York. For twenty years, the family tried to sue the CIA, claiming the organization drugged and manipulated his brain. It’s believed he was murdered…” Here, Tallus paused for theatrical effect before adding, “through mind control.”

A black-and-white image of a man stared back from the computer. Handsome guy, and true to Tallus’s claim, the headline spoke about a CIA mind-control experiment and his suspicious death.

Barely giving me time to absorb the article, Tallus returned to the search bar and entered new parameters, pulling up another piece that claimed three tower workers from out west jumped to their deaths after having undergone hypnotherapy at a bachelor party the previous weekend. Same symptoms as Allan and Amber.

It didn’t mean anything.

Then he showed me another. Three high school kids from Florida were hypnotized by their principal, and all three killed themselves within weeks of one another. It was believed the trio were in a trance-like state when they took their lives.

“Mind control,” he repeated, hammering the point home.

Before Tallus could throw more proof in my face—the guy was on a roll—I slammed the laptop closed and left my oversized hand on the surface so he couldn’t open it again. “Enough. I get it. It doesn’t make it real. It doesn’t mean Madame What’s Her Name is responsible for those two deaths. Hell, my clients have a higher chance of killing themselves than hers do.”

Tallus smirked. “That’s because you’re a cuddle bear.”

“It’s because I’m an asshole.”

“Potato potahto.”

I glowered, but it got me nowhere.

“Can we at least look into her? Give her a good once-over to be sure there isn’t anything sketchy in her past?” Tallus considered his words. “I mean, sketchier than being a psychic mind healer. D, she was on trial for murder once. I don’t care if a judge dismissed it. What if it happened again? What if she’s been to prison? I can’t subject Memphis to her mind-melding whatever she does without knowing it’s safe. He’s my BFF. I’m obligated to look out for him.”

I wanted to say no because the whole thing was stupid, and I would never waste my time on such a ridiculous notion for anyone. I wanted to say no, simply because he was doing it for Memphis, who I fucking despised.

But this was Tallus.

If I said no, it meant shuffling him out the door and going back to my pathetic stalking and those rare, drunken midnight visits to his apartment where I failed on every level to be the guy he wanted or deserved. It meant watching from the street as he spent private time with Memphis, knowing they were probably sharing a bed and exchanging orgasms. Each encounter with Tallus risked being the last as I waited for my mouth or manners to fail me for good. As I waited for him to officially get tired of my quirks and tell me to fuck off.

It was a matter of time.

“Fine. Give me a couple of days to see what I can find.”

“What about me? Can’t I help?”

“With what? A background check? You’ve done your research. Let me do mine. Alone.”

“And if you think it’s worth investigating?”

“Then I’ll call you.”

Tallus softly laughed. “Guns, the day you call me is the day pigs fly outta my ass.”

“I said I’ll call, so I’ll call.”

“And if there’s anything suspicious, you’ll let me help?”

“There won’t be.”

“If there is?”

“Then I’ll let you help.”

“Promise?”

“For fuck’s sake.” I scrubbed my face and glared. “I promise.”

Unaffected, Tallus smiled and pushed the laptop aside before shifting to face me. He balanced an elbow on the desk and rested his chin in an upturned palm. “Now that we’ve settled that, how’s it going, Guns?”

I didn’t know what he meant, so I worked my jaw and tried not to look like I was crawling out of my skin with our proximity and his undivided attention. I could smell Tallus’s cologne—it had worked its way through the entire room. Underneath the spicy aroma was a hint of something unique to Tallus. Something I craved.

“Is life going okay?”

“Peachy.”

“I saw you last night… outside my apartment… parked on the street.”

I looked away, feigning interest in a long-dried ink spill staining the desktop. I wasn’t na?ve. I knew Tallus was aware of my presence whenever I ventured to his house or work or followed him around the city. It wasn’t like I was hiding, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t ashamed of my behavior.

“Why didn’t you come up?”

“You had company.”

“We were watching bad reality TV. You could have joined us.”

“Not my thing.”

“What is your thing, D?”

I remained quiet, unsure how to answer since my thing was reclusiveness, isolation… and apparently stalking hot-as-fuck records clerks from the Toronto Police Department. My thing used to be Spark and nameless men in dark alleys until Tallus fucking Domingo invaded my life ten months ago and ruined me.

“Are you busy today?”

“No.”

“Wanna catch a matinee?”

“What? No.”

“Take a drive?”

“No.”

“Grab a coffee somewhere? Have a long chat?”

“I should… work.”

“It’s Saturday.”

I grunted for lack of knowing what else to say.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No, I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to stay and talk. I wanted to hear his voice as he chattered on about everything and nothing. I wanted to inhale his scent. I wanted to tell him how much it killed me to see him with other men at the club. How much I hated it when he brought them home.

I wanted to be a different man. One who was datable. One without a mountain of issues.

“I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“Call me even if you don’t.”

I grunted.

Sighing, Tallus rose. “Dismissed as always. I’ll pretend it doesn’t break my heart.”

What did that mean?

Before heading out the door, Tallus brushed a hand over my hair, tipping my head so I looked up. “Don’t be a stranger, Guns.”

I remained quiet. His attention was all over my face. I didn’t know what he was doing, but I felt like a bug under a microscope.

In the end, Tallus winked seductively, blew an air-kiss, and was gone.