Page 49 of The Night Shift

“Get in the car.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking home without your protection.”

He snorts. “Noted, but I can’t have a psychopath wandering the streets unsupervised.”

On the outside, I might look all calm and collected, but internally I’m freaking out. Is he joking or does he know something? Is he trying to insinuate something? Am I being paranoid again? And psychopath? Just because I kill men doesn’t mean I’m a psychopath. Some people are just worthless shit stains who deserve to die. It’s as simple as that. If anything, I’m doing the world a favor by hastening their end. I’m not a psychopath. That’s actually a very hurtful stereotype. Not all murderers are psychopaths. Just like not all murders are crimes. I’m just…passionate.

Theo honks twice. I flinch. “Get in the car,” he says.

“No.”

A few snowflakes fall across my shoulder and his eyes graze the spot before lifting to meet mine again. “I don’t have all day, Holly. Get in the car. Now.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

A brief pause and then he leans forward, opening the door for me. “Don’t make me drag you inside.”

An icy gust of wind chooses that exact fucking moment to whip past me and I audibly shiver.

Theo’s brows knit up. “Love,please. Get inside before you catch a cold.”

It’s the strange concern in his voice and that damn “love” that ultimately melts my resolve.

Begrudgingly, I get inside, inhaling the clean leather scent. The second I shut the passenger side door, I feel some tension in my stomach, thinking about how when you are in someone’s car, you’re their captive. But then, Theo turns a dial on thedashboard and heat blasts through the vents, and I instantly feel better.

“Better?” he asks.

I cut him a scathing glance.

“I think this is where you say thank you.”

I consider strangling him then and there, already feeling his neck muscles giving way under my fingers, and hearing the satisfying crack of his neck snapping. “It’s not my job to soothe your fractured ego.”

Theo hesitates, studying me for a moment. His mouth turns into a thin line, his jaw tightening.

“Just drive,” I say.

“Holly.” There’s no warmth in his tone.

“Thank you, Theo. There? Are you happy —”

Before I can finish my sentence, he leans in and grips my chin. My breath catches. “What the fuck —”

The pad of Theo’s index finger traces the curve beneath my jaw, and I freeze.

Eyes glued to my mouth, his other hand slides over my stomach, around the satin fabric of my dress, till he’s basically gripping my waist, his touch gentle, yet firm.

My heart riots behind my ribs.

The sirens in my brain go off. My fingers twitch involuntarily — a reflex reaction — aching to reach for the scalpel in my purse and shove it inside his throat. I swallow once, twice, waiting for the inevitable panic attack of being touched without any warning. But it doesn’t come. Various emotions buzz beneath my skin, but panic isn’t one of them. This feels…different. I’m not sure what. A warm sensation moves over my chest, soothing the frantic beat of my heart. Thawing and permeating through the layers of my skin, all the way to my bones. Like a blanket of sorts. A coating. A hot glow.

My skin istingling.

Theo’s gaze is heavy on my mouth and since I’m a moron who’s lost all control over her own body, I choose that exact moment to lick my lips.

Eyes still down, the fucker smiles. Again.

“Someone ought to teach you some manners, Dr. Moore,” he whispers, his eyes finally fusing with mine.