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“Really, I’m not looking to date your anchor,” he stressed with a chuckle, peeling the crackly wrapper from his burger. “I’m honestly mated. Happily mated.”

Such a little liar. She would have thought a PI would be better at it. “Then why are you sitting here with me?” And looking at her with sex in his eyes—something that earned him a sneer from her demon.

He shrugged one shoulder. “No reason in particular.”

A loud thud was followed by a harsh curse. Naomi winced in sympathy as she noticed that a customer had dropped their tray, sending their order scattering over the tiled floor.

“My name’s Ed,” Daniel fibbed, pulling her attention back to him.

“Naomi.” She took another bite out of her burger.

“You live around these parts?”

“Yes. You?”

Shaking his head, he picked up three of his fries and shoveled them into his mouth—classy. “I’m just heading home from work after meeting with a client.”

“Client?”

“I’m a graphic designer.”

“Huh.”

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, not exactly a job that involves living life on the edge. Pays the bills, though.” He sank his teeth into his own burger. “And it means I get to exercise my creative streak.” He spoke around a mouthful of food.

Her demon pulled a face at the unpleasant sight.

“I don’t have what it takes to be a painter or sculptor or anything. But I can work art-magic with a laptop.” He paused as the nearby family began singing “Happy Birthday” while clapping in time with the tune. “What about you? You strike me as the creative type.”

Chewing the last of her burger, she barely refrained from narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I can usually spot a fellow artist. Call it a gift.”

Unease tiptoed up her spine. “I like painting my nails. Does that count?”

Mirth gleamed in his eyes. “I don’t see why not. A canvas is a canvas, whatever shape or form it takes.”

She dipped a fry in her ketchup and bit into it, her instincts tingling.

It bothered her that he’d asked if she was creative.

Was he assuming that she was one of Tobe’s ghost artists?

There was no reason why he should. Then again, she’d been pretty defensive and tight-lipped at the tattoo studio. Perhaps it had made him suspicious.

It might be best, then, to give him a whole other reason why she’d been rude to him at Urban Ink; let him know that he wasn’t fooling her and never had.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “You seem . . . tense. I’m a good listener, if you want to offload.”

“I don’t, but thanks.”

“You sure?”

She ate another fry. “Positive. I mean, why would I talk to someone who likes feeding me a bunch of bullshit, Daniel?”

He paused mid chew, his amiable expression freezing.

“Yes, I know your real name. I knew it the day I met you, just as I also learned you’re a PI.”

His eyes flickering, the frozen friendly look on his face faded fast and turned hard. “How?”

“Imps can find out pretty much anything. The one at Urban Ink took your photo and sent it to a contact of hers—they telepathed her your identity in moments. She passed it on to me.”

“Since when do receptionists check people’s identities?” he bit off.

Her entity smiled, loving the aggravation in his tone. “They don’t. But you’re not as good a liar as you think you are—everything about your tone, body language, and word choices tweaked my instincts. I asked her to do me a solid and find out who you really were.”

He tightened his grip on his burger, oblivious to the sauce oozing out of it.

Naomi tossed a fry into her mouth. “Now, going by how you like dragging the conversation round to Tobe, I’d say you have a client who wants info about him. You’re wasting your time trying to get anything out of me, and you’ll struggle just as much when it comes to anyone else in my lair.”

His nostrils flared. “I’ll pay you.”

“Not interested.” She shook her mostly empty cup, hearing the ice rattle, and then drank more soda through her straw. “Even if I knew the answers to your questions, I wouldn’t tell you—not for anything.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for information that would do him harm.”

“Doesn’t matter. His business is his business to share or not to share. Go to him.”

“I would if he’d tell me anything.” He squinted, as if something had occurred to him. “Have you telepathed Tobe? Is he on his way?”

“No. I’m not going to drag him into your orbit. You want to talk to him, you need to approach him like a big boy.” Done with her food, she used a napkin to wipe the salt and grease from her fingers. “You also need to stop watching and following me.”

An ugly smirk graced his face. “When either you or Tobe tell me what I want to know, I’ll back off. Until then, you’ll just have to deal with me.”

She eyed him intently. “I didn’t peg you for stupid. Hmm. I guess you never can tell.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and then tossed it in her empty burger box.

“I should be worried about what a little siren can do to me?”

“Yes, actually. But it’s mostly me you need to worry about.”

Naomi went rigid. Because those words hadn’t come from her.