“So I did,” Alejandro said. “Now, shall we make that potion?”
Rose recognized the “let’s change the subject” underlying his words. She stood up and smiled at him. “Only if you tell me all about the Atlanteans. Do they have gills?”
He burst out laughing, and a wave of warmth that felt far too much like contentment shimmered through her.
That’s when her door slammed open, and the crazy man stormed into her kitchen.
Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance by Jennifer Ashley, Alyssa Day, Felicity Heaton, Erin Kellison, Laurie London, Erin Quinn, Bonnie Vanak and Caris Roane
CHAPTER 8
Alejandro’s gun was in his hand almost before he realized he’d drawn it. The wild-eyed man who’d burst into Rose’s house looked deranged. The red-rimmed eyes. The crazy bush of long gray hair. The bare feet.
The pink flamingos embroidered all over his bright green silk pajamas.
“Who the hell are you?” Alejandro demanded, moving to block the intruder’s access to Rose.
“I am Harold, the one who will destroy you,” the man said melodramatically, sneering and doing his best impression of a cartoon villain in one of the TV shows Mac’s nephew liked to watch.
Alejandro, prepared for almost anything else, blinked. “Harold?”
Rose squeezed around Alejandro and stared at the guy. “Why?”
Harold paused, mid-sneer. “Why what?”
“Why are you going to destroy me?” Rose glanced at Alejandro, and she didn’t look nearly worried enough to suit him.
Harold might be loco, but crazy people could still be very dangerous.
“Um. I don’t actually know the answer to that,” Harold said, biting his lip. “I’m under orders. I’m new.”
Rose nodded like she understood, and Alejandro had to fight to keep from being impressed about how calm she was about the whole thing. Unless this kind of thing happened to her all the time? He’d never met a family of witches before, so who the hell knew?
“You need to leave. Now,” Alejandro said, determined to take control of the situation. He was the P-Ops agent, after all. He tried not to think about how Mac would be laughing his ass off if he could see this. Mac’s stone ass.
Alejandro gritted his teeth.
Rose gave Alejandro a look, and he knew that look. It was the universal female expression that meant “you’re not helping.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she had the nerve to flash him a smile before turning back to the intruder.
“How about a cup of coffee, Harold?”
Alejandro groaned. “Do you routinely offer refreshment to crazy people who burst into your house and threaten you?”
“I don’t do anything routinely,” Rose said, and if it hadn’t been for the threat of destruction, Alejandro almost would have thought she was flirting with him. Which was impossible, because what woman would flirt with a man who had a gun trained on a silk-pajama-clad intruder?
“You’re almost as crazy as he is,” he said, shaking his head, which was suddenly aching. If he spent much more time with Rose, he was going to need a bottle of pain relievers.
Or tequila.
“Hey, I’m not crazy,” Harold interrupted. “I’m misunderstood.”
Alejandro had to laugh. “Really? You can stand there in those clothes and say that with a straight face?”
“Coffee?” Rose held up a mug.
“Yes, please,” Harold said politely. “Do you have artificial sweetener?”
“No, but I have raw sugar,” Rose said to the crazy man who had just threatened to destroy her. “Please have a seat.”
Harold sat down.
Alejandro swore under his breath and lowered his gun, beaten but not defeated. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, who the hell are you and why did you burst in here like that? Harold what? Orders from who?”
Rose handed Harold his cup, and the man took a small sip before responding. “Wouldn’t it be ‘orders from whom’? I don’t think ‘orders from who’ is grammatically correct.”
“I. Will. Shoot. You,” Alejandro said slowly, finally understanding the expression “I’m at the end of my rope” that Mac used so often.
“Veeno,” Harold said hastily. “Harold Veeno. I’m not sure who issued the orders. We have an email loop.”
“A what?”
Rose’s façade of calm finally cracked a little. “An email loop. You have an email loop,” she said, her voice a little higher than normal. “What’s it called? Assassins Are Us?”
“I’m not an assassin,” Harold said, pouting his lips out a little. Alejandro might have thought the man’s feelings were hurt, if he gave a shit whether or not the man’s feelings were hurt.