Page 8 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Eight

It’ll Melt Even the Frostiest Detective’s Heart

SARAH MICHELLE

Sarah Michelle settled into the comfy couch, the soft cushions engulfing her as she took in Zoe’s eclectic living room.

Old bookshelves lined the walls, weighed down by everything from shiny traveling guides to dog-eared paperbacks.

The air was redolent with the warm, sweet scents of cinnamon and vanilla wafting from a flickering candle on the coffee table—the opposite of the chilly October breeze sweeping against the windowpanes.

Her gaze drifted to Lorcan, perched on the other end of the couch.

His tall frame, all long limbs and easy angles, dwarfed the piece of furniture.

A prickle of irritation crawled up her nape at his presence, especially because of how her traitorous heart had jolted when she’d first spotted him striding toward the house minutes ago.

The memory of the shock, the annoyance, the inexplicable thrill still lingered, making her skin too tight for her body.

Now his proximity was oddly comforting, which only heightened her aggravation.

She forced herself to remember he’d had the audacity to magically seal her mouth shut during their spat on the front porch.

Gargoyles, he had no respect, no boundaries.

And he was a Black—entitled and arrogant, just like the rest of his coven.

Against her will, she cataloged how he smelled.

Great. Masculine. A fresh, fruity fragrance with essences of orange, lemon, and jasmine, blended with notes of sandalwood and patchouli that invited her to lean in closer.

And the warmth radiating from him seeped into her side, making her want to curl up against him.

She did her best to ignore both sensations and the echo of Andromeda’s words—that he might be into her.

Regardless of what he thought of her, he was a Black. Completely off-limits.

Pulling her mind away from thoughts of the annoyingly handsome wizard next to her, Sarah Michelle turned her attention to Zoe, who sat across from them, clutching a worn throw pillow. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d spent the night crying.

“Zoe,” Sarah Michelle began gently, “I know this must be difficult, but I need to ask a few questions about your ex-husband, is that okay?”

Zoe gave a brave nod.

“All right. Did you and Elijah separate on good terms? Were there any lingering resentments?”

Zoe squeezed her pillow, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Our divorce had its painful moments,” she admitted, “but we were mostly friendly after two years. It wasn’t perfect, but we were trying.”

Sarah Michelle pressed further, her tone growing a little sharper. “No controversies, legal or personal?”

Zoe tensed up, her shoulders hunching forward as if to protect herself. “No, nothing like that. Everything was solved with the divorce settlement.”

“Zoe.” Lorcan grabbed the widow’s hands in his. “You’re not a suspect. Detective Callidora is working to piece together Elijah’s life so we can identify potential persons of interest. We’re not accusing you of anything.”

The gall of this man. To talk in the plural as if he were part of the investigation. And to tell Zoe she wasn’t a suspect. They— she , because she was working alone—couldn’t exclude anyone this early. Except for the wizard himself, thanks to his priceless enchanted blade.

But Lorcan’s words had the desired effect, and Zoe’s posture relaxed. A mix of admiration and renewed frustration swirled inside the detective. Damn him for being so good at this.

From that moment on, Zoe became more open, her words flowing more freely. “The divorce was awful. I won’t lie. But I’ve moved on. I’m in a new relationship now.”

“Was Elijah aware you have a new partner?” Sarah Michelle asked.

Zoe nodded. “He did, and he was happy for me. At least, he said he was.” She paused, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t know if he was seeing anyone new himself. We didn’t talk much about that kind of thing.”

“And overall, how would you describe your relationship with him?”

“As good as it could be expected between exes.” Zoe shrugged with a rueful smile.

“He was late with alimony payments sometimes, and I had to call him about it.” She exchanged a look with Lorcan.

“You know how in the air he can be about this stuff—” Zoe caught herself, fresh horror dawning on her face.

“Could be, I mean. But he always paid eventually. We had no legal controversies or anything like that.”

“Can you think of anyone who could hold a grudge against him or have a score to settle?”

“No.” Zoe’s eyes became glassy. “Elijah was a good man. He wasn’t perfect. But he didn’t deserve—” The woman choked on the last words, unable to finish the sentence. That her ex-husband didn’t deserve a blade to the back of the skull? Yeah, a hard truth to spit out and come to terms with.

For his business partner, too, judging from Lorcan’s clenched jaw. The wizard must be struggling to process the brutal reality of Elijah’s death as well.

Sarah Michelle jotted down a few notes in her notebook. “Thank you, Zoe. That’s all I need for now. I’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

That we again. Hex, Sarah needed to remember to talk— and think— in the singular.

As they stood to leave, she wondered what was going through Lorcan’s head. But his expression was unreadable.

They stepped out of Zoe’s house together, the chill October air a slap to the senses. As they descended the steps, Sarah Michelle couldn’t decide if she respected Lorcan or despised him. Their family ties still cast a long shadow over their tentative truce.

They paused at the curb, the silence between them charged with an undercurrent of tension.

Her base instinct was to unfurl her wings and fly as far away from this man as she could.

But she needed to question Lorcan further, to finish what they had started the night of the non -arrest before they’d been interrupted.

Which meant she had to endure his unsettling presence for a little longer.

“Mr. Black.” She kept her tone steady, despite the pixies fluttering in her stomach. “You’re the next person close to the victim I need to question. Are you available now?”

A slow, devastating smile spread across Lorcan’s face. “Of course, detective,” he replied, his tone warm and teasing. An unwanted flapping beat in her chest at the sound of his voice calling her detective in that low, seductive drawl—a reaction she desperately ignored.

Lorcan’s eyes sparkled with knowing amusement as he gestured down the street.

“My favorite witchy coffee shop is just around the corner. Why don’t we continue our conversation there?

It’ll be much warmer than standing out here in the cold.

” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, smooth as honey, “And maybe you’ll be in a better mood when you’re not freezing. ”

Sarah Michelle frowned, torn between her desire to maintain a professional distance and the promise of warmth and coffee. “If I’m stuck with you, I seriously doubt it.”

“Oh, come on.” He crooked his elbow, offering her his arm. “They make a pumpkin spice unicorn latte so good, it’ll melt even the frostiest detective’s heart.”

Sarah Michelle hesitated, taking in his amiable smile and how his light hair fell rakishly across his forehead. Something about him drew her in, despite her best efforts to resist. She pointedly ignored his proffered arm but still gave a curt nod.

Nonplussed, Lorcan lowered his arm and beamed at her as radiantly as if she’d agreed to join him for a moonlit broomstick ride.

But as they walked down the quaint Salem streets, past enchanted storefronts and bustling magical folk intermixing with humans, the interaction felt more like a date than an interrogation. Maybe he had some justification for that stupid, radiant smile on his face.