Wanted(17)

“You’re looking tired,” he said, smiling gently as he took my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Tired being a euphemism for destroyed?”

“What can I say? I minored in English.”

My laugh was completely genuine. “You’re a good man, Agent Warner,” I said. “You deserve more than a wreck like me.”

“Maybe I like a fixer-upper.” He lifted our joined hands and kissed my fingertips. “You need distance. Come on. I already told Peterson I was whisking you away,” he added, referring to Jahn’s ever-present but usually invisible butler. “He’ll make sure the rest of the guests get on their way.”

I let him tug me toward the door. The guests were already leaving, and a few pulled me aside, giving me a hug and an encouraging word. Kat hurried over as we neared the entrance hall. “You’re heading out?”

“She needs to get away for the night,” Kevin said. “I’m taking her to my place.”

“Great,” Kat said, her voice bland, but a question in her eyes. I wished I could answer it. Cliché, maybe, but I could have used a night of nail polish and ice cream and talking about men.

“It’s gonna get easier,” Kat said, then pulled me into a tight hug.

“So they tell me.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll meet for cupcakes, okay?”

“Definitely,” I said, because who turns down cupcakes or sympathy from her best friend?

I didn’t see Tyler or Cole, and since I agreed that I needed to get out of there sooner rather than later, I continued willingly toward the door, figuring I’d see them in a couple of days at the attorney’s office. I still had the trauma of the will to look forward to. Maybe after that, I could start to heal.

I heard Evan before I saw him, that low, whiskey-smooth voice unmistakable. I was overcome by the desire to take a detour. Unfortunately, he was right by the front door.

“I understand,” he was saying. “But this isn’t the place.”

“It’s just without the damn liquor license, I can’t get enough traffic to turn the profit we need, and I can’t get the license without—”

I could see him now, and I watched as he cut off a stout, weasel-faced man with a hand to the shoulder. “Now’s not the time. But I promise you I’ll take care of it.”

“Seriously?”

I saw a muscle twitch in Evan’s cheek. “Are you doubting my word?”

The weasel looked a little bit terrified that he might have offended Evan. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that you—”

“It’s not a problem.” Evan’s voice was a blanket of calm against the hyper backpedaling. “I’ve got a few favors I can call in. We’ll get it worked out.”

The weasel nodded. “I’ll owe you. I know I’ll owe you.”

I saw the moment Evan noticed me. Just the slightest shift of his gaze from the weasel to my face, and then back again. “Tomorrow,” Evan said. “We’ll talk.” Then he turned to me, effectively dismissing the weasel, who slipped through the door, shoulders sagging in what looked like relief.

“Angie.” His voice stroked me like a strong, firm hand, and I felt my body heat in memory of his touch. His eyes flicked to Kevin. “Agent Warner.”

“Nice speech,” Kevin said. He held his hand out to shake. “You’re an articulate man.”

“It pays to be able to persuade people in my line of work,” Evan said.

For a moment, I thought he was going to ignore Kevin’s outstretched hand. Then he reached out—and as he did, I saw the raw, red knuckles. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed them before, and I had to blame my lack of attention on the dark. And on the fact that I’d been somewhat preoccupied by his general proximity, his touch, and my raging hormones.

“Evan! What happened?”

“Street fighting, Mr. Black?” Kevin said, in what must have been a joke but just sounded rude to me.

“If I was,” Evan said smoothly, “the other guy must be pretty fucked up.” He held the hand up for inspection. “I’d say I got off easy.”

For a moment, the two just stared at each other, a sticky, uncomfortable tension filling the space between them. Forget the War of the Roses, that historic battle was nothing compared to this War of the Alphas, and I had a sick feeling that I was the root of the trouble.

“It’s hardly a joke,” I snapped. “Seriously, Evan, you should clean that up. And for Christ’s sake, Kevin. Could you be any more of a jerk?”

He angled a glance at me. “Sorry.”