Page 91 of Bang

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're not asking for Willow. You're asking for yourself."

She was only half right. Still, in the spirit of meeting her in the middle, I said, "Fair enough. But wewillbe talking."

She was silent for a long moment before saying, "You know what? That's probably an excellent idea. But not here."

On this, she'd get no argument from me. "Agreed."

If things were different, I might've suggested talking in my bedroom – for convenience if nothing else. The master bedroom was only a few paces away and insulated for sound.

But I was no fool. If Cami wanted to spend time in my bedroom, she wouldn't have spent the past few weeks hiding out in her own.

I flicked my head toward the stairway. "We can talk in my office."

Her chin lifted. "No."

I froze.There was that word again."No?"

"We can talk out on the patio."

I didn't get it.My house was huge with plenty of places to talk in private. If she objected to my office, there was always the family room, the workout room, or hell even the basement if she wanted to put some serious distance between us and Willow.

So why the patio?

Maybe she wasn't thinking.ButIwas. She was wearing jeans and a little black T-shirt. With a pointed look at her bare arms, I said, "Outside? It's cold as hell."

With a tight smile, she said, "Isn't hell supposed to be hot?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'll let you know when I get there."

"Oh, please," she said. "You're the kind of guy who sendsothersto hell, not the other way around."

I gave her a tight smile of my own. "Thanks."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Says you."I wasn't joking.When it came to judgment, it was always better to be giving than receiving.

And, if I hadn't known this already, the look on Cami's face was proof enough. If she were a judge, and I were the defendant, I'd be heading straight to the gallows.

It was a new sensation, and I didn't like it. When she made no reply, I said, "Good thing you're not mad, huh?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"You tell me."

"If you're implying that I lied when you asked, you're remembering it all wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Because I never said I wasn't mad."

"Wanna bet?"

"What Isaidwas, I'm not mad atyou."

"So you're mad at someone else?" I studied her face, wondering who had angered her, and what I could do to fix it. "You should've said something. You need help?"