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“Do you want to go to a murder scene with me?” Damen asked from across from the cozy breakfast nook.

I raised an eyebrow, considering his request. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d chosen such an unusual dessert conversation. It’d become apparent rather quickly that my new friend, Damen Abernathy, was somewhat strange.

He also lacked proper etiquette. He’d waited until I’d taken a bite of my chocolate cake before turning off his phone, leaning back in his seat, and making the query.

I should have declined, thrilling as the prospect was. And it truly was—the thought of leaving the inside of Damen’s cozy house to look at blood-splattered walls this late in the evening, especially when a ghost was trying to hurt me—was rather unappealing.

Tonight was supposed to be about relaxing. After yesterday’s events, when a very angry ghost had tried to kill me in Professor Hamway’s yard, it was emphasized that I wasn’t supposed to be doing much of anything .

“I could really use your help,” he added.

And suddenly, I was unable to turn him down. This was the man who’d very recently saved my life and brought me into his circle at a time when I’d been utterly alone.

I would do anything he wanted.

I would have to change out of my pajamas. My light pink gown wasn’t optimal attire for such things. I nodded and knew I’d made the right choice when his gray eyes lit with pleasure.

“Excellent,” he said, and my attention moved to his mouth. “We’ll leave shortly.”

Miles placed a plate of cookies between Damen and me, crossed his arms, and frowned. “You can’t take her. It’s already late, and she has class in the morning.”

“It’s only biology.” Damen shrugged. “Besides, it shouldn’t take that long.”

“But didn’t you say she had to get on Bryce’s good side?” Miles protested.

I glared at the witch. I doubted the fake professor cared that I might miss a class, so why was he intervening?

“Bryce Dubois”—Damen casually waved his hand in the air—“or a homicide? There’s a clear ranking of importance between those two things. Besides, with Gregory on leave tonight, I’d rather have Bianca as the first medium on scene before Bryce can be alerted. Don’t you agree?” he asked me.

I nodded again, trying to hide my excitement.

The fact that I might best my archnemesis at something made this turn of events even sweeter.

I had no idea he helped Dr. Stephens, so this was another area where I could prevail.

I must cultivate my skills so that when the time came, I could easily knock Bryce down into his rightful place as my subordinate.

And to think, all it took was for someone to be killed. It was good to know where Damen’s priorities lay—on my side, where they belonged.

I spotted the silver and blue lights an instant before Damen turned the corner. Vehicles were parked in a semi-circle in front of a white picket fence outside a white house with black shutters. Gray-uniformed officers mingled around the wrap-around patio and through the front door.

Damen pulled into an open space close to the yellow tape, and a gangly man in a navy suit stepped away from the others and moved toward us.

“Oh,” Damen remarked as he turned off his car. “Norman’s here already.”

“Norman?” My attention lingering on the redheaded man. His unfriendly scowl was evident even in the flashing lights. “Who is he?”

“My second-in-command,” Damen answered. I opened my mouth to ask, but Damen beat me. “Let’s not tell him anything about you yet.”

“Why?” I asked, turning to face Damen. Was there a reason that I was supposed to deny my birthright?

“Just a suspicion,” Damen said as he parked the car and unbuckled his seat belt. He exited the vehicle and walked around the front, opening my door.

“Nothing for you to worry about, though,” he continued, offering me his arm. “But until I’m certain, the less he knows about you, the better.”

That sounded exactly like something I should be worried about. “Then what do we say when—” I closed my mouth as Norman stepped in front of us .

“It’s about time you showed up; we’re already behind schedule.” Norman was typing into his phone so severely that his screen might break. His sharp, angular features radiated alertness as his keen gaze flew over me. But as quickly as he sized me up, he turned his nose up and his focus shifted away.

His easy dismissal was almost offensive, but I was also thankful he didn’t want to talk to me.

I was curious why, though. Was I not interesting? Or perhaps Damen always brought random girls with him to crime scenes.

“Haven’t I told you to stop bringing your fans?” he asked Damen. He spoke fast, making it difficult for me to follow along. “We can’t afford any more distractions.”

Ah, so it was the latter. I was totally not surprised.

Damen frowned. “Sorry,” he responded, not sounding sorry at all. He draped his arm over my shoulders and led me toward the house. “What’s going on?”

Norman snapped his phone closed. “Bryce isn’t answering me!”

Why was he contacting Bryce? I was supposed to be first!

And of further note, the lack of professionalism from Bryce was appalling.

Damen glanced at me before addressing Norman. “Isn’t it a bit early in the investigation to need him?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Norman’s brows were drawn together as he watched Damen. “This is Caleb Weaver’s house. He’s the victim.”

“What?” Damen’s impassive expression fell, and his fingers tightened around my shoulder. “How?”

It was evident that the victim was someone he knew.

“They’re claiming he’s committed suicide, and from what I can see, there’s nothing to indicate otherwise.

” Norman pulled out a tiny memo pad and flipped through his notes.

“One of his former students—Michelle Nolan—found him a few hours after the estimated time of death. He never showed up to their reading group, so she did a welfare check. She claims he was hanging from the loft’s railings and she cut him down. But he was already dead.”

Damen’s shock turned to a scowl. “Why would she move the body?”

“She panicked and was hoping to help.” Norman shrugged. “So far, her story holds up. He has wounds consistent with hanging. You’ll get a copy of the coroner’s report later. They’ve already taken him to the morgue.”

“Erm…” I bit the tip of my thumb. It wasn’t my place to ask questions.

But what exactly was I supposed to be doing here?

With this, Norman was apparently no longer able to ignore me.

“All right.” He half-heartedly pointed the pad at me. “Who’s this then?”

The moody expression shifted from Damen’s features into nonchalance, and he reached into his jacket and pulled out his glasses.

“Norman,” Damen began in the way of introductions, “meet Bianca Brosnan. Bianca, this is Norman Peterson.” He cleaned the lenses with a little gray cloth. “Bianca is my assistant.”

Norman gasped and almost dropped his notes. “But I’m your assistant!”

Oh, dear.

I chewed my lip and watched Damen. Why would he incite him? Norman was high-strung enough.

I never wanted to be the reason someone didn’t have a job.

“Well, now I have two assistants.” Damen sounded bored. He started to say something else, but his attention moved over my head, and he put his glasses back on .

Someone must have called for him.

“Wait here,” he said, and before I could protest, he meandered away and left me alone with the extremely disgruntled man.

Norman wasted no time defending his claim. He stepped to my side, and I drew my shoulders up as he glared at me with striking, green eyes. “You.”

I shivered at the loathing in his voice. Me, what?

I couldn’t defeat him in battle. He might not have been as tall as Damen, but he was at least a head taller than me. Plus, I didn’t even want to fight.

I swallowed, but my mouth was dry. Even so, I responded with a pathetic, “What?”

“I know what you want.” Norman enunciated each word clearly and slowly, allowing the venom to thicken between us despite his uninterested expression. Anyone seeing us might think that we were comrades patiently waiting together.

He certainly had a lot of practice in discrete hostility.

“Wh-what do I want?” I asked him.

“My job!” Norman’s mask fell, and he clenched his fist against his chest. A fire burned in his eyes as he monologued. “But you cannot have it, you vixen! I’ve busted my ass to get where I am today, and I will not lose to a starry-eyed, brunette munchkin.”

That wasn’t my intention at all. “Um…”

More importantly, I’d never once looked at Damen with starry eyes.

“Besides, I’ve never even heard of you,” Norman said, ignoring my stammering. “Whoever you are, you’ll never be able to measure up to the Peterson name!”

“Um…” I said again, lifting my finger. What did that have to do with anything?

Plus, I had no idea why he’d think that mattered. However, I did know this: the more passionate he became, the more familiar his dialect. My stomach twisted in longing. We were kindred spirits, but it didn’t seem like this was a good moment to bond over my long-lost hometown.

Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a connection with him now. Were all Officers this passionate about their positions? Or was this role extremely personal to him? He almost seemed obsessive—he was still, at this moment, ranting and raving in hasty words that I could no longer follow.

This was either extreme dedication, which was admirable, or something entirely different, yet somewhat simpler. Might he be in love with Damen?

How terribly sad. Didn’t he realize that Damen was destined to be romantically alone forever?

Perhaps Norman did know—everyone else seemed to—and that was why he was so angry. His only way of being close to Damen as he lived his unfulfilled romance was through employment.

The big question was, did Damen love him in return?

“Okay,” Damen said, returning to us. “Keep a watch out,” he ordered, looking back at the officers. “Norman, I want you to follow Michelle—I have a feeling about her.”