The Departed

okay?”
    “I’m fine—shit.” He turned his hand over and caught hers, squeezing her fingers in a grasp so tight it hurt. His head lifted and he stared at her, his steel blue eyes burning and intense. “Fuck, Dez. I’m not fine, but I can’t discuss this now. Anna…”
    His eyes closed. When he looked back at her, those raging emotions were banked and his voice was level. “What happened then is done, and regardless of whether we can figure it out, a few days here or there won’t make a difference, I don’t think. But what’s going on now —a few days, a few minutes—that makes all the difference. We’ve already seen that. We handle this, then we focus on…”
    His voice trailed off.
    “Okay.” She smiled at him. “It’s not like I’ve got anyplace to go. No mean-ass boss riding my tail or anything.”
    A faint grin tugged at his lips. “I can ride your tail if you want.”
    Heat burst through her belly and a startled laugh escaped her. “Oh. Um. Sure. Please do. But…this first. That assaholic boy first. Brendan. Again, I need inside his house.”
    “Again, Dez, you’re a pain in the ass.” He leaned forward, his hand still holding hers, although his grip loosened. “Fine. Just why do you need inside his house? What did you see earlier?”
    Just like that, she wished she hadn’t had the coffee. It pitched in her belly and she had to swallow against the bile rising in her throat. That nasty little shit—he had gotten under her skin but good. Taking a deep breath, she told him, getting it out as quick as she could, trying not to dwell on everything she’d picked up from him.
    There was a reason she preferred to deal with the dead…the people she helped were generally decent people who just needed to move on. She saw ugliness through their eyes, and she had to live with their pain. But she’d never felt that much vile, foul evil inside her before—pure, straight from the source, so to speak.
    “So this journal. You want to find it.” Taylor watched her from under his lashes, his thumb still stroking over the back of her hand. “Shit, Dez. We can’t just sail inside. Officially, we aren’t here, you know that, right?”
    “So that should make it easier.” Dez shrugged.
    “And if you find whatever it is you’re looking for?” He cocked a brow at her. “What happens when you find the journal? It’s not like we can just take it. It’s not like any of my people have legit reasons for being here. I can keep your ass out of trouble—I can’t make things like illegal searches legal.”
    She made a face at him. “I’m not going to do an illegal search—although technically, anything I do…would it be legal or illegal?” She smiled at him serenely. “How does the freelance gig work, anyway?”
    “Again, you’re a pain in the ass.” He rubbed his forehead. “Exactly what do you plan on doing once you’re in there if you don’t plan on searching for the damn thing?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m kind of making this up as I go.” Sipping from her coffee, she stared at the table, trying to figure out just what to do, which way to go from here. “He thinks he’s in control, you know—thinks he’s as cool as a damn cucumber.”
    “He’s a spoiled, uncontrolled little asshole,” Taylor said, shaking his head. “A sociopath in the making.”
    “He’s already made.” He might think he was in control, but he wasn’t. Now, as far as cool went—he might be cool as in cold, but that was an empathy thing there. The boy had none. Looking at Taylor, she said quietly, “I don’t even know if Tristan was his first victim. Touching him, it was like touching hell. There’s so much wrong inside him, I wouldn’t know where to begin if you asked me.”
    He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I’m not asking.” Blowing out a breath, he said, “The kid’s dad is the mayor. That’s one way in. We won’t go in as anything official.”
    “What does his father being the mayor have to do with it? Especially if we’re not official ?” Dez scowled even as she fought the urge to melt as heat raced up her arm just from the light brush of his lips on her skin. He’d kissed her. In public. It hadn’t even been anything remotely sexual, but it had been intimate—extremely. Anybody could kiss you on the cheek—friends, even distant friends sometimes did it. But for a guy to kiss a woman on the wrist…shit, that was intimate.
    Swallowing, she