Rowley jabbed the End Call button with his thumb. No way would Leera agree to go out with one of those things. Meg had to have her facts wrong.
* * * *
Rowley hit the red door with his fist again. Every moment since his call with Meg, he’d grown more frantic about whether Leera would go out on a date with an undead. Could he have let her slip away again? No. Not this time. He could turn this around.
The volume of the music inside the house lowered. The winter chill bit into him. He lifted his hands to his mouth and blew. The door opened.
Leera stood in jeans and a t-shirt with her curls pulled back. “Hi, Rowley, great to see you.”
With his arms crossed over his chest, he entered. “Is it true?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is what true?”
There was no way she could think nothing of what she had agreed to. “Are you going out on a date with that thing?” Heat tightened around his torso at the idea of her with one those creatures, but especially with one able to endear itself to the nation.
A soft breath escaped her lips. “Yes. Vaihan is taking me out to dinner.”
What possible reason did she have to mix with zombies? “You mean it’s going to have you for dinner.”
Leera chuckled. “No, he won’t, it would hinder any possibility of a second date.”
“You think this is a joke?” For months he’d wanted to see her smile, but not under these circumstances. “We’re food to those creatures. I care about you and couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.” He took her hand, locking his fingers with hers.
“Nothing will happen to me.” She stepped back.
“They’re freaks of nature, abominations. You’re a smart, sexy woman. You don’t need to resort to this...this thing.” He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“I’m not resorting to anything.” She retreated. “It’s one outing.”
Was it him, or was she being standoffish? “If I’d known you wanted to go out, I’d have taken you.” He caught her wrist.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want pity.”
“Pity?” That wasn’t even close to what he felt. “I want you, Leera. My feelings for you have never changed. I’ve been trying to do the right thing here and give you the time you need to grieve.” He slid his hand around her waist.
“It’s not a switch I can turn on and off. Where one day I can say I’m grieving and the next I’m past it.” She took hold of his arm and slid away. “But I want to start living again, okay?”
Something was definitely up. Every time he touched her, she backed off. “I want that for you too.” For him to get his Lee-lee back.
“When would we go?” She smiled.
The sooner the better. “Thursday.” He reached for her.
“No,” she said, withdrawing from him. “That’s when Vaihan is taking me out.”
Why would she go through with the date? Rowley huffed. “Friday night, then?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “What time?”
“May I pick you up at 6:30?” Now all he needed to do was prove to her he was everything she wanted. What could an undead give her?
She smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Is there no way I can talk you out of seeing it?” If that thing so much as hurt a hair on her, he’d take it down. Sooner than later.
She shook her head. “No, and don’t call him an it.”
There was nothing else he could call a dead thing. “All right. I don’t like you seeing it, but soon enough I’ll sweep you off your feet.” Into his bed. Rowley rested his hand on her shoulder.
She parted her full lips and let out a soft exhalation. “Friday it is, then.”
“I look forward to spending time with you.” He kissed her cheek.
“I do too.” With a nod, she stepped back.
He wouldn’t win her over with anger. “I’m sorry, I lost my cool.” But he felt her slipping away again. He wouldn’t let that happen this time.
“Behind us.” She took his hand between both of hers and squeezed.
Something was off about her. She’d never been one to have a large personal bubble.
Chapter 8
A prickly sensation creeped up Vaihan’s neck. A light shone from the crack at the bottom of his office door, which his assistant Stacy would have turned off. The man was invaluable, had a head for all the little details. Besides security detail, no one else should be in the west wing of the White House at ten PM. The soles of his Italian shoes pounded the marble floor, bouncing off the bare walls, as he ran.
The scent of cheap aftershave and velvet reeked of Barton.
Vaihan turned the handle and opened the door.
A large-rimmed orange hat covered Barton’s bald head. His loud matching sport jacket brought his outfit to the pinnacle of offensive.
“Why are you at the office?” Barton said. “Shouldn’t you be out with Miss Hot Thing?”
The thought of Barton even thinking of Leera in such away had his fist clenching. “I told you, I’d follow up when I had something.”
“From my vantage point, you’ve lost your touch.” He tilted his head.
The man might be thirteen or thirty–same difference. What did he know of trust or women? “I’m building trust so she brings me around her family. That’s how it works. Women don’t bring just any man to family functions. Hence, why you’ve never been invited to one.”
“I’ve been to plenty.”
He didn’t need to explain to him. “If you say so.”
“I’m keeping an eye on you, Mr. Louchian.”
Both eyes would be more practical, but he wouldn’t judge. Hopefully Barton hadn’t a clue that Vaihan was more likely to believe in flying pigs than a word coming out of his mouth. Something just didn’t feel right about his assignment with the widow, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “You have your methods and I have mine.” After all, he did work for the government, and knew what the public was told and what really went on were continents apart.
“It would seem.” Barton placed an elbow on his knee and rested his face in his hand. “Know a zombie by the name of Delmar?”
“Small-time chop shop motor-head? Just over the Maryland border in Randolph Village.”
“One and the same.”
What was the game tonight? “Is there a point?”
“Rumor is, he’s running a sex den with underage girls for the Mob in the warehouse next to his garage.”
He couldn’t accuse the Mob of not being adaptive. Scum. If it wasn’t the fucking feds, it was his own kind. The one thing above all others Vaihan couldn’t stomach was messing with women or children. “Thanks. Anything else I can do for God and country?”
Barton got up. “Are you offering?”
“Never mind.” Prick. “We don’t have the same sense of humor.”
“Next time we meet, you’d better be the favorite guest at the Waltz family gatherings.”
Sure thing, he’d get right on that after he cleaned up the