The Taken

plans that never did. They drove down the same stretch of asphalt with the top up, and he spent the whole time pointing out the things he intended to leave behind, mostly places and memories they’d shared. Then it was on to talk about a law appointment he felt entitled to, a potential summer internship with a political candidate she already found suspect, and a disdain for her clothing, her alternative lifestyle… her.

Kit knew he thought he was sharing his dreams with her, but by then it could have been anyone riding alongside him in that car.

“Ah, he loved you,” Fleur said unconvincingly, when Kit shared these thoughts with her.

“Please,” Kit said, tossing the phone back into her bag. “The only bone in my body he ever loved was his.”

“Shh. Not so loud.” Fleur held her scissors to the side as she leaned close, voice melodramatic. “Contact shame.”

“Was he really that bad?” Kit asked, though what she was really wondering was, Was I really that blind?

“Don’t worry, honey,” Fleur said, scissors flying like she could snip away Kit’s worry along with her split ends. “We’ve all had judgment lapses that had us tiptoeing toward our own personal apocalypse. Besides, Paul started out all right. Then he was tainted by the lure of zeroes in his bank account.”

“A need for obscene wealth is just a symptom of his disease.”

“Which is?”

“A profound lack of self-worth.”

Fleur snorted. “That’s because deep down he knows he gets through life on white male privilege and looks rivaling Narcissus. I mean, what kind of man looks over his shoulder just to see who’s watching him?”

Kit thought about the way Grif had walked away from her-back ramrod-straight, steps even and unhurried and sure-never once looking back. “Yeah, well you know Paul. He wants to give the appearance of being ‘fiscally sound.’ ”

“Fiscally sound?”

Kit held up her palms. “His words, not mine.”

“I’m fiscally sound,” Fleur declared after a moment. “I’m a sound thousandaire.”

Kit snorted. “I’m potentially wealthy, but totally unsound.”

“And he loved you because of the first part of that sentence.” Fleur smiled through the mirror. “The rest of us love you because of the last.”

“Unsound is a good adjective. Unfortunately, Paul has other adjectives for me.” Stubborn. Irresponsible. Strange.

Sensing the serious turn, Fleur cleared her throat. “Enough about Paul. He’s so fake he should have ‘Made in China’ stamped on his ass. Tell me about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous. Let this old married woman live vicariously through you.”

Kit rolled her eyes-Fleur was both younger than her and insatiably hot for her rocker husband-but she went with it, spilling everything about the previous night, how she’d been nearly dead on her feet- too sad, exhausted, and outnumbered to do much more than flail when she’d been attacked in her own home. “One guy was a cop, we think. I’m sure he had some part in Nic’s death. I don’t know about the other, but Grif drove both of them away.”

Fleur, who’d fallen utterly still at the beginning of the telling, came to life, waving her scissors and comb around so wildly she looked homicidal. “But you have to go to the police!”

“Did you hear the part about my attacker being a policeman?”

“But your bruises…” Fleur touched Kit’s neck gingerly now, like she was breakable. Kit gritted her teeth, and shooed her away.

“I’m fine. And Grif has promised to protect me.”

With raised brows, Fleur motioned around the salon, empty but for the two of them.

“I’m not in any danger right now,” Kit said hurriedly. She hoped. “And I’m sure he’s doing something to further our investigation.” She hoped.

“Your investigation?” Fleur’s eyes went round, her arms falling slack. “Kit!”

“You didn’t see him, okay?” Kit said, holding up a hand. “He’s a fighter, and… cranky.”

“Cranky?”

“I mean, tough, but gentle enough with me. Well, gentle-ish. Plus…” She let her words trail off into a mumble.

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Leaning over the chair, Fleur looked directly into Kit’s eyes. “You saw black wings flare from his back right after he saved your life?”

Kit pushed her away. “I told you I was tired!”

Fleur shook her head, catching herself before she ran her hands through her pin curls. “Gee, honey. Project much?”

“I know, I know.” Kit rolled her eyes. “It was the muscle relaxer. The drink.”

Fleur winced. “The grief.”

“Yeah.” Tears threatened to spill again. Besides, if there really were such things as angels, Nic would still be here.

Fleur lifted her scissors, resumed snipping. “The question now is, how’d this Griffin Shaw get in your house?”

“Followed the others, I guess.”

“And hid in the bedroom before them?” Fleur said skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Kit admitted, because the question had been niggling at her, too.

“Kit…”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“The one that says exciting and scary aren’t the same thing? The one that says bad boys have never been good for you?”

“Yes. That one.”

“But is he dangerous?”

Kit bit her lip, then nodded. “He wears it like that suit of his. Loose and roomy, like he’s always on the edge of a punch.”

“Damn,” she said, then added, “That is hot.”

“I know.” But Kit also knew that Grif was somehow broken. She’d seen it when he was talking about his grandmother, that Evelyn woman, and in the way his expression shuttered when she teased him. It was strange, but also intriguing.

“As long as he’s not dangerous to you,” Fleur said, though it was a question.

“Look, he’s helping me when no one else will, so I’m inclined to trust him,” Kit replied slowly, then shook her head, which Fleur stilled with her palms, before she resumed cutting. “No, ‘inclined’ isn’t the word.”

“Compelled?” Fleur offered, knowing how Kit loved precision in her words.

“Yes.”

“Moved? Driven? Fated?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“Which?”

Kit offered up a lopsided smile. “All of them.”

“Damn it, Kit.”

“I know.”

It was dangerous to overlook the way he’d slipped into her home. And scary.

And exciting.

“He’s helping me,” she repeated, more to herself than Fleur. Helping protect her, helping her find out what happened to Nic, helping her get out of bed and keep moving on a day when it would have been easier to just disappear.

But she’d gone that route once before, after her father’s murder, and she’d take dangerous any day. That’s why she was going to track down Nic’s killer. And why she’d go head-to-head with a crooked cop. And why she needed to get her damned hair done. She needed time to think.

She was jolted from the thought by her phone, trilling in her lap with the notes from the past. Kit just looked at Fleur, who rolled her eyes.