“I, uh, hmm...”
While Earl gave that one a good think, Blade glanced up toward the kitchen window. Zen’s face ducked out of sight.
“I don’t know what to say, Earl. You know I wouldn’t do such a thing as steal a truck. I have enough of my own in the garage.”
The officer straightened and hooked his thumbs at his belt loops. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Inside the garage? Sure thing.”
Blade led him toward the barn where the entire ground floor had been converted into a garage for his fix-it projects. Best thing to do was play along. He’d not asked for this trouble, but for some reason, he was damned good at extricating himself from sticky situations.
It was a talent he’d gladly surrender if only everyone would leave him in peace.
* * *
By the time Blade returned to the loft, Zen had watched a tow truck haul away the vehicle she had borrowed. Okay, stolen. The keys had been in the ignition. How else to get around while she was trying to figure herself out and had no cash whatsoever?
Was that it? Had she been a thief before losing her memory and the criminal act was so ingrained that stealing a truck hadn’t given her a moment of guilt?
Blade topped the stairs and veered toward the kitchen, where the coffee machine blinked in wait. He inserted a coffee pod and leaned over the machine, his back to her. Zen could sense his irritation. He was still barefoot. Her worry vanished as she studied his feet. They were sexy. Seriously. Those dark jeans slouched over his feet, the hems torn and worn from treading without shoes. It was so animal, in a sensual, easygoing kind of way.
And he had once again saved her butt, this time by diverting the police from her. Because there was just something about not going to the police that made sense. And she was going to call that intuition about the life she couldn’t remember.
“Sorry,” Zen offered. “Guess I’m not making a fast getaway now like I had planned. Are you in trouble?”
“No. But the local police will certainly be keeping an eye on me for a while. Earl left convinced it was a joyrider who had abandoned the truck here. Why they hadn’t driven it into the woods and trashed it was beyond Earl, but he’ll dust for prints. I told him to keep me in the loop if he gets an identification.”
“Thanks. I think. If they come up with my prints, will they arrest me?”
“Probably.” He removed the full mug and turned to face her, sipping slowly. “And why not go to the police?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t feel right. Not part of the destiny.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Zen shrugged again. Because really, the words had just come out; she didn’t have a clear reason for them. “Don’t ask me to explain.”
“Uh-huh.” He tilted down a few sips of the hot brew. “If you say so.”
“So it’s as easy as that?” Zen asked. “I tell you not to ask questions and you don’t. Whew. You must have a heck of a closet filled with your own skeletons.”
He smirked and approached her, laying his hand over her heart. Zen flinched but didn’t want to pull away from the surprising touch of his big warm hand over her breast.
“What are you—” It didn’t matter what he was doing. She just didn’t want him to ever stop.
“Your heart is racing,” he said.
“Well, duh. A handsome man is touching my boob.”
He flinched away at that statement. Shook his head. “Sorry. Just wanted to know if you were for real.”
“I am real. I’m standing right here. What doesn’t look and feel real to you?”
“The whole not-knowing-things part. You can tell a lot about a person by measuring their heartbeats. Just thought I’d give it a try.”
With a nod he turned and pulled out another coffee pod and set it in the machine to brew.
“All righty, then.” Zen sat at the counter, more confused about the man than ever. So her heartbeats were fast. To be expected.
And what did she have to do to get him to touch her like that again?
* * *
There was something about this woman that was accepting and open, Blade thought. But also too damned curious. Dare he tell her what he’d encountered inside the house while she had been wandering about the field? That would then lead to a discussion on how he was familiar with demons, and...
Destiny?
There was certainly something other about her. But Blade wouldn’t necessarily label it destiny. Whatever that meant. When he’d laid his hand over her heart it had felt sure and strong—and fast. His sensory perception of other paranormal beings was excellent. Vampires he could tell by touch. Vamps gave off the shimmer, a knowing tingle. Werewolves were a scent thing. And faeries were a more difficult tell, even though faery blood ran through his veins, but some were just...bright. And that wasn’t a glow but rather a feeling he got.
As for witches, he felt a twinge in his spine when near them. Demons gave off a sulfurous scent and they generally had a difficult time hiding their red eyes.
He met Zen’s eyes as she sipped the coffee. Hers were blue.
“Yesterday they were green,” he said suddenly, leaning forward to closely inspect her irises.
“What?” She met his gaze, and then shook her head. “Listen, after your emphatic statement that we could never be friends, I find your gazing longingly into my eyes a little befuddling, not to mention the free feel you just took.”
“They’ve changed color.”
“What? My eyes? No, they’re still—” She touched her cheek below her eye. “I guess I’ve never given them a good look in the mirror.”
“Yesterday the color resembled emeralds. Today they are azure. Not red.”
“You’re hanging on to that theory, eh? Demons have red eyes. Or so the mythology states as much.”
“Zen.” Blade set his coffee mug on the counter and leaned forward. “That old lady back at the house where I met you? She wasn’t old or even a lady.”
“Sure she was. I spoke to her. Told her I was there to find myself. Though she did say something odd about finding herself. If she wasn’t an old woman, then what was she?”
“What you saw and spoke to was her human facade. I saw her shift into three demons. And then I slayed them.”
Tapping her fingernails against her mug, Zen surprised him in that she didn’t protest or stand up and dash off. The woman was reading him, delving into his words to glean their integrity. Trustworthy? Always. Upstanding? Rarely.
“What kind of demons?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know.” He narrowed his gaze on her. She wasn’t running. And asking questions was a good thing. Right? “The standard nasty-assed terrors that disperse into black dust when I draw my blade down their sternums.”
Zen clutched her chest and made a gagging face. “And you think I’m one of them?”
“No. Maybe.”
She gaped at him.
“I don’t know. But I do believe they were after you. When I was in the house, one of them said something like ‘she’s ours.’ You’re really cool with this conversation? Because most humans would not be.”
“I haven’t decided yet. I know demons exist. In mythology. As do bazillions of other breeds and species. But they are fiction,